Horses and Seagulls
by brigitte51
Summary: A take on how Éomer and Lothíriel met, after the War of the Ring, and on how it was love at (almost) first sight for him, but not for her. Set in Minas Tirith, Edoras and Dol Amroth, in T.A. 3019-3020.
1. Minas Tirith

I've had this story in mind for a while now and I took my time to write this 1st chapter. I'm planning to do a 3 parts story, with long chapters, but I will take my time writing it.

I took some liberty with the timeline. In the books, Éomer returned to Minas Tirith in July, after Aragorn and Arwen's wedding, so it seems he was not present during the celebrations. On the other hand, lord Imrahil really did go to Edoras for king Théoden's burial (so why not the rest of his family). And we don't know much about what Lothíriel was doing, but I decided she came to Minas Tirith right after the end of the war and spent much of her time helping in the Houses of Healing.

Anyhow, I hope you'll enjoy the fic!

Credits to J.R.R. Tolkien, of course.

* * *

 **Horses and Seagulls**

 **Chapter 1 – Minas Tirith**

 **T.A. 3019, July**

 **Part 1 - The old woman, the maiden and the donkey**

Somewhere north of Minas Tirith, an old woman, a maiden and a donkey were slowly making their way towards a stream that ran from the mountains to the Anduin. The eldest, short and crouched, was mostly complaining about her painful articulations, although she also stopped from time to time to pluck a flower or some leaves, while the youngest, tall and lithe, was tying her long black hair into an intricated bun, for it was a warm day and she feared she'd soon start sweating abundantly – the donkey was following them dutifully, glad as he was to be out of his paddock.

"Would you rather not spend your days with the other young girls? Poor old Ioreth and her donkey might not be a company suited for a fine lady like you."

Lothíriel pouted, scratching the donkey between the ears. "You are well versed in the herb-lore, Ioreth, I have learned quite a great deal from you over the last few weeks. As for the other girls, these days they can only think about the King's upcoming wedding and especially about the lords who will attend this event. I'm afraid discussing with them is awfully boring."

"Is it not how it is supposed to be?" retorted Ioreth. "At your age, one dreams of beautiful dresses and handsome suitors."

"A terrible war has just ended, some men have yet to be properly buried, some wounds have yet to heal, and it seems the land itself will need years to recover…" said Lothíriel, surveying the area with great interest, trying to identify each plant and tree she saw. "Surely, they have not already forgotten all these horrors we have been through?"

"Young people are carefree, they forget their woes fast and they look forward entertaining," the old woman told her and then she grumbled. "Ah, my back is aching… See! Do enjoy your youth while you still can, Lothíriel, for soon enough you will be like me, grey and crumpled, and every one of your bones will be hurting!"

Lothíriel chuckled softly – she had understood long ago that Ioreth's incessant rants were to be taken lightly. "Oh, but I too am looking forward this wedding. However, it is not the dances that I care about, but the guests that will come, as many of the Elves of Imladris and Lorien will be attending the celebrations."

Ioreth shook her head, shooting Lothíriel a disapproving look. "Elves... I say, keep an eye open for the young lords instead of chasing vain dreams. It shall be a good occasion for you to find a husband."

"I am too young to be wedded and I daresay my father hopes to keep me by his sides for a couple more years at least," replied Lothíriel, shrugging carelessly.

"Well if you won't see them, they shall see you well enough," said Ioreth and she added, in a conspiracy tone, "Pray, do not tell the others, but you are far prettier than any of the maidens of Minas Tirith, and, unlike them, you do care about helping poor Ioreth heal all those injured soldiers."

To be honest, Lothíriel thought so too, nonetheless she was touched by the old lady's words and she even blushed a little. "Thank you, dear Ioreth."

They had reached the stream and Prancer, the donkey, immediately ducked his head down to gulp long sips of fresh water. Once he felt he was refreshed, he then proceeded to graze the tender grass on the bank, while Ioreth and Lothíriel were in search of herbs they needed for the Houses of Healings.

Some time in the afternoon, Lothíriel and Ioreth had sat by the stream to enjoy a small luncheon and rest under the shade of the trees. The plants they had gathered so far had been put in bags that would eventually been carried back to Minas Tirith on Prancer – for the moment, the donkey was nibbling on lilies, unaware he would be put to contribution at some point. They were about to walk further to the west, where the water sprang from the mountainside, when they saw a dozen riders heading their way, on the road from Anórien. Their horses were strong and fiery, galloping through the plain effortlessly, and it was easy enough to guess where they were coming from.

"It seems these are Rohirrim, perhaps they are coming for the King's wedding," said Lothíriel, rising on her feet.

"Are they?" Ioreth inquired, squinting her eyes.

"Most certainly, even if they were not carrying their banners, their golden hair gives them away," replied the maiden, who possessed a keen eyesight, like all the people of her house. "Oh, is not their leader King Éomer himself?"

"What?" exclaimed Ioreth, suddenly worried. "My Lady, quick, put my cloak on, it would not be proper for them to see you dressed like this, like a peasant! And there is mud on your dress, and your hands! Ah, what should we do... what should we do..."

Lothíriel stared down at the cloak she had been handed, bewildered – only Ioreth would have brought such a piece of clothing on a summer fieldtrip. And what did it matter if she wore a plain grey dress? What did it matter it there were stains on it? They were out to collect herbs for the Houses of Healings, there was no one she needed to impress doing so.

"I mind not being seen like this, Ioreth, and if it worries you so much, tell them I am your orphan niece. Thus, my father's honor shall be safeguarded."

"Nonsense, Lothíriel, you look too… you… What if they recognize you later...?"

"They won't, the hood of your cloak should conceal my face, partly at least, and I can put some mud on my cheeks too if you wish. And mess my hair," said Lothíriel, giggling.

Sometimes it was too easy to taunt the old woman.

"No, it is alright. Look at the ground and do not to say a word, unless they address you first."

Ioreth was fussing over the young girl, adjusting her clothes while muttering under her breath – something about the carelessness of the youth.

"Yes, auntie."

A few minutes later, the riders had reached the stream and King Éomer, for it was him indeed, got down his horse first, approaching the ladies on foot. Upon meeting his clear blue eyes, Ioreth gasped and, struggling to gather her dresses, she bowed deeply, her forehead almost brushing the grass - it was quite an accomplishment for a lady so old and always complaining about back pain. Beside her, Lothíriel was less demonstrative and curtsied discreetly, avoiding the gazes of the Rohirrim.

"King Éomer!" said Ioreth, in an exalted voice. "What an honour, truly! But, Your Highness, I am extremely confused to be caught in such a position, while I am humbly fulfilling my duties as a healer. I am sure you will understand that I must go out in the fields to seek the plants required to cure the wounded and, even though I have seen my fair share of springs, I still need to do it myself..."

Éomer was surprised by the length of the old lady's speech, but he kept smiling politely, doing his best not to laugh or to grin too hard.

"It was not my intention to startle you, Ioreth, please forgive me. Yet, as it happens, our horses would gladly refresh themselves awhile and I thought I would take some time to greet you as well, for I have not forgotten you have taken great care of my sister when she needed it most," said the King of Rohan while his men were leading their horses to the stream.

"Your Highness is too kind, really." And Ioreth bowed once more, but not as lowly as the first time. "Our King is the one who ought to be thanked for your sister's miraculous recovery, for indeed it was he who thought of using Kingsfoil and it was his hands who did most of the work... After all it is said that the King possesses healing powers far surpassing those of mere commoners like me."

"I account myself as being in your debt nonetheless, Ioreth."

"You are too kind, your Highness," repeated the old woman. "If I had known Kingsfoil could be used with such great results, I –"

"I see you are not alone," Éomer cut in, as he peered at Lothíriel.

"This is my niece, your Highness, a good girl who spares some of her time to help me gather the herbs I need," said Ioreth, sputtering a little.

Lothíriel was highly amused and she also thought this situation was a bit ridiculous. However, it was entertaining to play along the old lady's act and thus, she bowed for a second time, like the modest maiden she was supposed to be.

"Is that so? Then good greetings to you..." His voice trailed.

"Fíriel, my name is Fíriel, Your Highness," Lothíriel promptly told him, before Ioreth could utter a word. "And this is Prancer," she added, gesturing at the donkey who was peering curiously at the Rohirrim's horses.

"Prancer?" repeated Ioreth, scowling at the maiden.

But Éomer was laughing merrily and, nodding at his horse, he said, "And that is my steed, Firefoot."

There was a silence, during which Éomer was trying to see more of Lothíriel's face, under her intriguing hood, but it was soon broken by Ioreth.

"Well, Your Highness, it is time for us to go back to Minas Tirith," announced Ioreth. "I have many duties to tend to, for there are still many wounded men and these days my joints hurt day and night…"

"Oh, of course," said Éomer. "I shall come visit you in the Houses of Healings, Ioreth."

"It would be an honor to welcome you there, Your Highness."

Ioreth would have bowed yet another time, but her poor back could not take it anymore, and she pulled Lothíriel's sleeve. The young girl complied to this silent order and she curtsied gracefully, slightly disappointed that her performance as Ioreth's niece was cut short. They quickly tied their bags on Prancer's back and, after Ioreth had thanked on last time His Highness for his king regard they headed back to the city. Once she and Lothíriel were well out of earshot of the Rohirrim, Ioreth let out a sigh.

"You have introduced a donkey to the king of Rohan… He must believe I have some dim-witted for a niece."

"What does it matter? I am not your niece," replied Lothíriel, chuckling.

"Your father must never know about this scheme of ours."

"My lips are sealed," promised the young girl, although she was sure her father would have found it all very amusing.

During the following days, king Éomer was oft seen lurking discreetly around the Houses of Healing. One could have thought he meant to visit some soldiers all the while avoiding Ioreth, whose arthritis was worse than ever and had become the source of an endless flow of complaints. Yet Éomer was a kind soul and he would have probably listened to the old woman's drivel for as long as it'd take for her to feel properly acknowledged. The real reason he wished not to be noticed had nothing to do with Ioreth, for he hoped to see her niece, this young girl to whom he deemed he had not been properly acquainted, but she seemed to have disappeared. Little did he know that Lothíriel was actively hiding from him, as Ioreth had begged her to do so, in the foolish hope that the King of Rohan would never understand that the old woman had no niece and that it was in fact the daughter of Prince Imrahil of Belfalas he had met by the stream.

* * *

 **Part 2 – Elves and Hobbits**

Ioreth did not attend the big feast that was held after the wedding of king Aragorn and lady Arwen – her old bones were too weary for that, she had said –, otherwise she would have been appalled to discover that Éomer and Lothíriel were seated at the same table, because lord Imrahil had become good friend with the king of the Rohirrim. They barely exchanged a few words, before food was served, but it had been enough for Éomer to recognize her, despite the hood she had been wearing the other day, and he wondered why she had pretended to be Ioreth's niece back then. However, he did not ponder long over this, for he had become too enthralled by Lothíriel's beauty to bother with this mystery he deemed unimportant.

Even though the celebrations were in full swings, Éomer paid no attention to the music and the delicacies served to him. He was very busy staring – ogling perhaps would have been a more appropriate term – at Lothíriel. He remembered having told master Gimli that he deemed lady Arwen more beautiful even than lady Galadriel, that he chose dusk over morning, but he had never thought he would meet a mortal woman who would embody this ideal. Yet there she was, with her long black hair, her fair skin and her winkling eyes of an indiscernible color, somewhere between blue and grey, like the sea on a stormy day.

Lothíriel did not notice the young king of Rohan was looking her way, for she was herself quite absorbed in her admiration of the Elves who had come from Lorien and Imladris. She was lost in thoughts far different from those of Éomer, wondering what the grand lords and ladies of the Elven kingdoms could think of Gondor, of men and of their short lives. She was also reflecting about her own ancestors, for it was said that one of them had wedded an Elven lady, and until recently she had believed it was nothing more than a legend forged by some of her forefathers to enhance their notoriety. However, she had been surprised to learn that the Elven companion of King Aragorn, Legolas Greenleaf, had proclaimed, upon seeing her father, that he visibly had Elvish blood running through his veins.

Lothíriel took no pride in this, she was mostly just curious, like she was curious as to how lady Arwen and king Aragorn had met and fallen in love. Her father had already warned her not to be too nosy about these matters, but she thought it would be rather innocent to speak with the Elven guests, even if they were all very intimidating. And so, while she was gauging whether or not it would be proper to sit down a while with those ladies from Lorien, Éomer decided it was time he asked her to dance with him.

"I wish you good luck, my dear friend, for these days she only dances with the Halflings."

Quite amused, one of Lothíriel's brother, Erchirion, was smiling mischievously at Éomer. He had noticed – who would have not – the king of Rohan had taken great interest in his sister. Although it would be quite entertaining to see him try to court her, Erchirion had opted to warn him beforehand.

"Why so?" inquired Éomer, chucking down his buck of ale in an attempt to hide his agitation.

"Who knows, she must have some strange reason of her own... She did befriend one of them, in the Houses of Healing, yet I also believe she relishes the idea of rejecting any young man who comes near her."

"Ah…" was all Éomer could say as he beckoned a servant to bring him more ale.

"I suppose that if the free people of Middle-earth have managed to vanquish Sauron, there might me a slight chance you will be able to coax Lothíriel into dancing with you by the end of the night."

"I shall try, I find I can be very persistent at times." He was a bit crestfallen, but he loved a good challenge.

Erchirion's smile widened and he gave Éomer a look of sympathy.

"Perhaps we have spoiled her too much, my Lord, and since she grew up with three brothers, it seems she has come to think she'd be the one asking a man for his hand, and not the reverse."

"As it happens I know a thing or two about strong-willed sisters," said Éomer, as he got up.

"I wish you good luck," said Erchirion, raising his glass.

Lothíriel had left her seat, but she had not yet approached any of the Elves present at the feast, for she had come across two of the hobbits and was deeply immersed in conversation with them. She had met Meriadoc Brandybuck in the Houses of Healing and, through him, she had made the acquaintance of Peregrin Took.

"Oh, but there is nothing joyful about this rhyme, it is grim even. _When the Black Breath blows, and death's shadow grows, and all light pass_ …"

"My Lady, it perfectly illustrates the sheer despair of my condition, back then. It shall make quite an impression on my cousins, I say!" exclaimed Pippin.

And the three of them were laughing happily when Éomer stepped in.

"Master Meriadoc, Master Peregrin, would you mind if I had a word with lady Lothíriel?"

"Not at all, lord Éomer," replied Merry, grinning.

He nodded at Lothíriel, so did Pippin, and, whispering and sniggering, the Hobbits headed back to their table, where they planned to eat their fourth serving.

And before Lothíriel could say anything, Éomer playfully inquired:

"Is Ioreth truly your sister's father and am I the only one who knew not they were such close kin?"

His blue eyes sparkled as he met her gaze, but Lothíriel seemed to be immune to his charm.

"Oh, we meant not to fool you," she said, a little sheepish. "However, dear old Ioreth thought it was _highly improper_ for a fine young lady like me to be introduced to a king while I was in the company of a donkey, clad in muddy clothes."

"I hear donkeys make for excellent company."

"They do, indeed. Do believe me, lord Éomer, I was convinced you would not mind my attire or my four-legged friend, but I did not wish to upset Ioreth who was feeling quite anxious already."

"I do believe you," he assured her, beaming. "Should I introduce myself to you once more, now that I know who you really are?"

"Should I not be the one doing so? After all, it is my fault we are not properly acquainted yet, although my father might have told you everything there is to know about me by now."

"Lord Imrahil mentioned no donkey, I'm afraid," teased Éomer, chuckling.

A wide, genuine smile broke into Lothíriel's face, at last.

"Unfortunately, the donkey is not mine," she said and all she could really think about was Ioreth's reaction, when she'd tell her king Éomer had uncovered their _scheme_.

Éomer, on the other hand, felt light-headed, for thus was the effect that this lovely maiden had on him – it really had nothing to do with the ale.

"Lothíriel, would you do me honor of dancing with me?"

She was not surprised by his request, on the contrary she had been expected it – there was this spark in his eyes, the spark all these lords had when they whished to ask her something. While Lothíriel was used to drawing young men's attention, it was the first time a king asked her to dance and thus, she was not so quick to dismiss him. She also knew her father had taken a great liking to Éomer, and that was a rare occurrence, but what truly convinced her to reply positively to the king of Rohan's request was the sly smile she spotted on her brother's face. If Erchirion was expecting her to reject the king of Rohan and he thought it would be quite an entertaining sight, then she'd be even more happy to thwart him.

"Of course, your Highness," she said sweetly, extending her hand so he could take it.

Erchirion was surprised, so was lord Imrahil, and they both wondered if Lothíriel had decided that a king was worthy of her, unlike any of the lords of Gondor. Yet to her this dance was just a dance, much like when she was twirling with Meriadoc and Peregrin, and although Éomer proved to be a very capable partner, she had no intention of spending the rest of the night in his arms.

"It was a pleasure, truly," she told him, when the music stopped for a short while.

"Shall we…?"

"Oh, I believe there are some young ladies who would really enjoy a dance or two with you and it would be heartless of me to deprive them of this chance," said Lothíriel, gesturing at a small group of maidens who were eyeing hopefully the dashing king of Rohan.

Éomer could not really object to her words and he concealed his disappointment with great skill. "I never knew I would one day be sought after by Gondorian ladies," he said with a smile.

Nodding, Lothíriel smiled back at him and headed back to her seat. Dancing had been fun, yet she still needed to find a way to approach the Elves. Luckily, she did not have to elaborate any grand scheme to achieve her goal, for Meriadoc came to her aid, unknowingly. Among the guests who had come from Lorien was an Elf called Rúmil and he seemed to have many things to tell the Hobbit, even though he could barely speak the Common Tongue.

"Pray, Lothíriel, would you be so kind to translate what this fellow is saying? I do remember meeting him in the golden woods of the Lady, yet it was his brother who did most of the talking back then…"

Lothíriel jumped to his aid, glad to be of service, as she said, but also extremely happy to learn more about the secluded lives of the Elves of Lorien.

"Hobbits, and now Elves, perhaps the Rohirrim are next on her list," Erchirion told Éomer, once he was finally done dancing. "Do not lose hope, my Lord, it was quite an accomplishment to have a dance with her already."

"Is it truly?" Éomer wondered, sitting down.

He was starting to feel slightly frustrated with himself, for all he could think about was how quickly he had been discarded by Lothíriel – and none of the other ladies had been able to get her off his mind.

"In Dol Amroth, the young men do not bother to ask her anymore," said Erchirion and, seeing that Éomer was frowning, he added, "You could enlist the Halflings' help. Is not one of them at the service of your kingdom?"

"I'll admit your sister is quite beautiful… and intriguing too. Yet there is no reason for me to pursue her if she has no interest in me, is there?"

"No, I suppose not. Although you will be seeing her often over the next month, should you not befriend her at least?"

"Will she allow this?"

"I'd wager you will be a nice addition to her collection of eclectic new friends," Erchirion replied, still very amused. "You should rank somewhere between Ioreth and the donkey."

"Oh, I presume the donkey will rank higher than I," said Éomer and he laughed.

He had never met anyone quite like Lothíriel, he was sure of it, even though their first encounter had taken place barely a few days ago. And he truly loved a good challenge.

* * *

On the next day, Lothíriel chose not to go to the merrymakings held in town, unlike her brothers, and instead, she went down to the sixth circle of the city, where she found Merry, sitting in the gardens of the Houses of Healing. He was alone, for Pippin was still fast asleep, but he was quite busy, eating leftovers from the wedding's feast. While he was a bit surprised to see the young girl, he was glad to have someone with whom he could share his copious breakfast.

"Lothíriel, why have you not gone with others to the rejoicings? Surely your place is among young people."

"All these young people really wish for is a good excuse to flirt, that is something I have no interest in," she said, shrugging.

"Well, are not most of those brave Gondorian soldiers considered handsome?"

"I dream not of loving a soldier, I would rather wed a scholar. Those do not go to war."

And she took a slice of cake, even though she felt she was still full from the previous evening banquet.

"Not so long ago, I would have agreed with you, Lothíriel, since I used to believe Hobbits did not partake in the wars of Men. Yet if I could fight under the banners of Rohan, then any able man might have to defend his realm, one day."

"And thus, what do you suggest, master Meriadoc? That I never get married, for there will always be a risk of losing my husband to an army of Orcs?"

"I suppose your lord father would be happy to have you by his side in his older days. But I should ask you, what man would rather go meddle with these horrible creatures when a lady like you is waiting for him at home?"

"Oh, you are quite the flatterer, Meriadoc Brandybuck!" Lothíriel exclaimed, laughing heartily. "Are all Hobbits such sweet talkers?"

"I daresay I am quite a gifted individual," Merry said, feigning modesty.

"Indeed."

"But do tell me, Lothíriel, what of kings?"

"Kings? Perhaps I would make a good queen, but lady Arwen is much more suited to this role than I am." She said, and she wondered if she could spend a few years in Minas Tirith, as a lady in waiting of the queen.

"Alright, however the Rohirrim are also in need of a queen and lady Arwen cannot wed two men, can she?"

"I bet there are plenty of young women who would happily become queen of Rohan," replied the young girl carelessly. "For my part, I would rather stay in Dol Amroth, by the sea."

Merry shook his head discreetly, thinking that Éomer had perhaps set his sights too high – should he not tell him already that Lothíriel was a lost cause? He also believed Lothíriel had genuinely not noticed the effect she had on the king of Rohan, despite it being blatant, and it was surprising, from someone ever so clever.

Devouring an excellent apple pie, the Hobbit thought that love seemed to be a complicated matter and that Lothíriel would probably give Éomer many headaches.

* * *

 **Part 3 – The king of Rohan**

Exactly seven days after the wedding, Éomer found a way to spend some time alone with Lothíriel, at long last.

It happened by accident, after he had mentioned Béma, whom the people of Gondor called Oromë, and the Mearas, the great horses of the Rohirrim, while talking to lord Imrahil. He knew not this, but there was nothing like an unusual piece of old lore to trigger Lothíriel's curiosity and suddenly, it was inquiry after inquiry from her part – they eventually ended up in the stables where Éomer introduced her formally to Firefoot. Lothíriel was delighted and, beside her, Éomer could hardly believe all he had to do to grab her attention was to talk about horses and legends of yore.

This marked the beginning of their friendship, for afterwards Lothíriel would ever greet Éomer warmly and treat him as courteously as her father and brothers did. It was a great improvement and they became closer even the day Ioreth realized her little scheme had been uncovered. Lothíriel still teased her by calling her "auntie", but Éomer had to reassure the old lady and listen to her apologies for a good hour before the matter was settled for good.

During these summer days in Minas Tirith, Lothíriel discovered the king of Rohan was an agreeable person and she thought she should get to know him, for his sister would wed her cousin, thus they would be family. Whatever were her reasons to spend more time with him, it never crossed her mind she could feel attracted to him or that she could have started developing romantic feelings towards him – she needed no husband, especially not a King who still had many battles to fight. No, she had decided he would be another one of his friends, like Ioreth and like the Hobbits, another one of these unusual friends she had never expected to meet in her life.

"I have been attending quite an amount of merrymakings in the city and its whereabouts, yet I have not seen you in any of them. I must say I wonder why you avoid these events."

"Do you? Why would expect me to be partaking in any of these events?" she retorted.

"Do you not wish to celebrate the King's wedding or the end of the war?" he inquired, genuinely curious.

"The Enemy was defeated, yet I am still troubled by what has happened," she admitted in a low voice and for a moment she seemed to be very grave. Then, she shrugged and went back to her usual self, "Besides, I do not get along well with young folk, I could not spend my days frolicking with them."

"Some have told me you deem yourself too important to mingle with the crowd of Minas Tirith, others that you are simply one of these people who prize solitude," Éomer said – by 'some', he meant his sister and by 'others', Faramir. "However, I think you are neither a snob nor a loner, but simply someone who does not open easily to others."

"How could your opinion of me be so firm already?" Lothíriel asked, not at all disturbed by the fact that she was considered a snob by some and a loner by others.

"I am certain of absolutely nothing," chuckled Éomer. "Except, perhaps, that I enjoy these walks in your company."

As far as she could tell, the king of Rohan was always a cheerful fellow, who thrived among small and big crowds alike. She had heard his laughter many times by now, yet this time it had a strange effect on her – she felt she was blushing. For a moment, Lothíriel gazed at this golden hair, shinier than ever under the Sun and then at his blue eyes, sparkling with merriness, and it briefly crossed her mind he was quite a spectacular man.

"And you are yourself almost as entertaining as master Meriadoc and Ioreth combined," she finally said, clearing her throat and trying to regain her composure. "Not to mention that our families will soon be joined, we might as well get properly acquainted."

"As it happens, our families might have been already connected. My grandmother was a lady of Gondor, from Lossarnach to be precise, yet her family was originated from Dol Amroth."

"I knew not about this, although it does explain why your sister is taller even than me."

And he explained to her how his grandfather had dwelled in Gondor before becoming king of Rohan and how it was there that his uncle had been born.

"In his household, they spoke only Sindarin and Westron and even when my sister and I were children, Rohirric was rarely heard at the court."

"How peculiar!" Lothíriel said.

Once more, Éomer had managed to grab her attention – as time passed, it was easier and easier for him to do so.

And, by the mid-July, they had become good friends. While Lothíriel was kind to him, Éomer could sense she still needed time to open up to him. She sometimes alluded to what she had been through during the war – how difficult it had been to see her father and her brothers leave for battle, how scared she had been that Dol Amroth would be under attack and how it had been a shock to see all those dead and injured soldiers, when she had come to Minas Tirith – she never dwelled on the matter too long, avoiding it most of the time. He hoped she would soon trust him enough to let down her guard and he was a very patient man, for never had been be so enamoured.

As for Lothíriel, she was starting to be a little troubled, although she would not have admitted Éomer was the cause of it, mostly because she had yet to be aware of her own feelings.

* * *

That day, they were walking in an orchard, near the walls of Minas Tirith, and she had agreed to pass her arm around his. In the days to come, Éomer would depart for Rohan, along with most of the Rohirrim that remained in Gondor, and with him he would bring back the body of the late king Théoden. This did not mean he would no more see Lothíriel, for she would ride to Rohan with her father and her brothers to attend to the burial and also to bid farewell to the Hobbits who would then go back to their homes, in the Shire. Yet time would come for him to resume his duties as king and, before the end of Summer, he would have to part from her for months, for a year even – at earliest, they'd meet at Éowyn and Faramir's betrothal. Thus, Éomer felt it was time he had a serious talk with his _new friend_.

"Barely six months ago, my uncle was king of Rohan, my cousin was his heir and I, I was the king's sister-son, the third marshal and it seemed to be enough," he told her, gazing at the great blue sky, where streaks of white clouds formed long lines. "If I were to be honest, it was a little overwhelming at times, however I was proud to serve my king and my people. Oh, everything was not perfect, for already shadows crept in Rohan and Gríma had a sinister influence on my uncle, yet there was always hope we would get rid of the traitor before it worsened. And I could rely on my cousin… Then, Théodred died. He, whom I had loved like a brother, was slain during a battle and I knew the wizard of Isengard had had some part in it. I realized I had become the heir of my uncle and these were tough times, for I had to fight on many fronts, against the Orcs, against Gríma's dark schemes, and I could see my sister waning... How hopeless I could sometimes… Needless to say that upon the arrival of Aragorn and Gandalf in Edoras, I believed the worst was behind us, I believed my uncle had many good years ahead of him still, now that he was free of his curse. Alas, he passed away, he died on the battlefield and on that day, I thought I had lost my sister too... Everything had collapsed around me and I found myself to be king, I had to give orders, to exhort my men and to mourn. It did turn out Éowyn had survived, it did happen we won the war, yet it does not completely erase the grief and the fear I felt that day. I had never imagined I would be anything else than the king's sister-son, the third marshal, and this new reality has yet to sink in. Every morning, when I wake, it takes me a few moments to recall everything that has happened over the last months."

Lothíriel had listened intently to his speech and she found it echoed some of her own fears and uncertainties. During the war, she had been terrified her father and her brothers would be slain on the battlefield and she had been alone, in Dol Amroth, facing unpreceded threats. She had not yet recovered from that and it was still difficult to look eastward, where the shadows of Mordor had lied, for it reminded her how close Gondor had been to lose the war.

"You are wondering why I am telling you all this, are you not?"

She nodded.

"Because it seems to me you would understand I feel melancholic, despite our victory."

His shoulders had slumped, and he was staring at her, searching her face for a sign. He wanted her to share some of these feelings she was ever concealing, behind these impassive eyes of hers. How he wished she'd lean on him, if for a moment only…

"I understand… It will take some time for things to go back to normal," said Lothíriel, in a neutral tone. "I suppose even these incessant merrymakings are a way of coping with the loss of so many dear ones."

"Perhaps," he said with a smile.

But she was silent, and it was impossible for Éomer to decipher her thoughts based on her expression. So, after a while, he decided to try another approach. "I heard you will be present at the burial, in Edoras."

"I will."

"It will be your first travel outside of Gondor, am I right?"

"Yes, I never saw the other side of the Ered Nimrais."

"There is no sea in Rohan, but the plains are covered with tall grass and when the wind blows, it does seem like waves are rolling throughout the land," Éomer told her. "Instead of seagulls and fish, there are horses and larks, yet I presume these little differences should not bother you."

"Oh, I do look forward seeing those herds of horses you have been talking about, but life does not seem to be too sophisticated in Rohan," Lothíriel said, recalling what she had heard so far about the kingdom of the Rohirrim. "Personally, I believe I could never adjust to such rusticity, not for long at least."

"Rusticity?" repeated Éomer, his smile fading.

"Well, your people mostly dwell in villages and small settlements, do they not? Then I cannot imagine their houses look anything like those we have here in Minas Tirith, or back in Dol Amroth, although I am sure it is all very quaint."

Éomer stopped walking abruptly, letting her arm go, and he took a good look at her, trying to discern whether she was teasing him or not.

"Tell me, what am I to you, Lothíriel? Some sort of peasant?"

"No, Éomer, I do not…I did not…" she stuttered – his tone had been brisk and it took her aback.

"I was ever sincere to you, I have been telling you things that…" Éomer said, shaking his head in exasperation. "I… I thought you merely needed time to get to trust me and to come out of your shell, yet it seems you have never really considered me your friend, have you?"

Baffled, Lothíriel tried to defend herself, "I never was dishonest with you! I have been very attentive to what you had to say and I have been very honored you chose to befriend me in such a wholeheartedly way, yet what have you been expecting Éomer?"

"Perhaps I never imagined you would insult my people."

"I did not insult them… Well, I surely meant not to…" she began, before realizing she was only aggravating the situation. "Éomer, I am sorry I have offended you, but, do believe me, I have great respect for your people and for the bravery they –"

"Oh, then we are brave _and_ rustic, like true savages."

"Please hear me out," she pleaded earnestly, "I had no intention of speaking ill of Rohan, I simply… I…"

Lothíriel found there was nothing more she could say. It had dawned upon her she had insulted him, she had belittled the Rohirrim, and she had done so carelessly – yes, carelessly, as she behaved so often. And suddenly, guilt overwhelmed her like never before and she stared at the ground, contrite.

"Up until this day, I was ready to listen to anything you had to say, I wished you would pour your heart out to me… However, I see I was a fool for hoping you would reciprocate my feelings, or merely respect me, was I not, Lothíriel?"

Petrified, she dared not utter a word. Éomer's anger was cold and measured and it somehow was more brutal than any of the scolding she had gotten from her old governess – and worse even was his genuine disappointment.

"Will you not refute any of this, Lothíriel? Can you not tell me you care?"

"I do not think I am the person you believed me to be, Éomer," she whispered at last, and she dared not meet his gaze as she pronounced these words.

"Indeed, I was mistaken."

And he left, going away, back to the city, without so much a look to Lothíriel who stood alone in the orchard.

The young girl was terribly upset and she hardly could figure what had just happened – how could she have been so inconsiderate of him? She should have treated him better, she thought bitterly, she should have been warmer to him and she should have told him she did enjoy his company, immensely…

She stayed a long while in the orchard, wandering through the trees, for she did not want anyone to see her cry.

* * *

"She comes from this land where they speak more often the Elven tongue than Westron and where Men still call themselves Númenóreans, thus she thinks we must be dwelling in mud huts! Faramir insists she has a good heart, yet I believe she is immature and selfish," Éowyn said, furious. "I am sorry to tell you this, dear brother, but you wasted your time with her."

"Even now, I wonder… I doubt she was being malicious."

"Malicious or not, her opinion of us is quite clear."

"I suppose…" He heaved a sigh, bitter.

"Do not burden yourself with this, other matters ought to fill your mind," his sister told him softly. "We still have to bury our uncle…"

"Yes..."

Yet Éomer was wondering how he could have been so wrong about Lothíriel – had he merely been dazzled by her beauty?


	2. Rohan

**Guest and Nanold** : I think Lothíriel is spoiled indeed and she never had her opinions challenged, so she sometimes says horrible stuff without meaning to cause any harm (although it really does some damage). I've never tried writing an heroin with such an obvious flaw, so I hope her redemption will be credible haha.

 **Silverswath** : 'Poor Eomer and immature Lothiriel' that made me laugh! But yes, that is what it is. And yes, she'll have to work to get better.

 **Golden Haired Ravenclaw** **:** I tried a different story format this time, with longer chapters so they're more packed than what I would usually do. Glad it seems to work!

Thank you all for the reviews and favorites/follows!

I've been slow to update but I really took my time to write this chapter (it'll take some time for the 3rd chapter as well). Obviously, I wanted Lothíriel to grow up, but the change had to not be too drastic :)

(And once again I've loosely followed the real timeline)

* * *

 **Chapter 2 – Rohan**

 **Part 1 – The Journey**

Lothíriel had thought of feigning an illness to stay in Minas Tirith, instead of going to Edoras. Nothing too bad, as to not worry her father and her brothers, but just enough for her to be bed-ridden awhile and to avoid the long journey to Rohan.

She did not mind traveling, on the contrary, she loved the outdoors and the kingdom of the Rohirrim should have been an exciting destination for a young maiden like her. Alas, she could not imagine herself attending the burial of king Théoden, in the presence of Éomer and Éowyn, among these people she had been so prompt to call 'rustic'.

Those days, after her falling-out with Éomer, had been difficult for Lothíriel. She had stayed in her chambers most of the time, not daring to go the Houses of Healing, or anywhere else for that matter – she preferred to be alone, it was the only way for her to assess the situation. She had argued countless times with her brothers, with some of her cousins and even with a couple of young ladies of Dol Amroth, but these quarrels had been unimportant. It had always been easy to make up with her siblings and other kinsmen and it had been easier to ignore the grudges other maidens could hold against her for she had never really cared about their opinions of her. Thus, Lothíriel, vain and proudful Lothíriel – that would likely be her epithet someday, in a long and complicated lay –, was upset about this quarrel she had had with the King of Rohan and she could still feel her insides squirm with shame whenever she recalled the way Éomer had looked at her, so furious and disappointed. It bothered her immensely that this could be the very last impression he'd have of her, yet she had no idea how she could manage to redeem herself.

Upon hearing Lothíriel would not leave her rooms, Ioreth insisted on having a close look at the young girl and she had brought with her quite a variety of fresh herbs and other mysterious ingredients she was determined to use on her patient. The old lady let out such sighs and small exclamations that one would have thought Lothíriel was on the verge of death, whereas she suffered from no real illness – all she needed was a good piece of advice and perhaps an exhortation to get out of her bed already. After a thorough examination, Ioreth concluded that Lothíriel should drink a fortifying concoction of mead, milk and mint, served warm in a gigantic bowl. It did not taste as bas as expected, yet it did little to improve Lothíriel's morale.

"Ioreth, do tell me, have I been of some help to you over the last months?" the maiden asked.

"Of course, how would have I fared without a young assistant like you? My poor back would have given up long ago… Oh, and to think that I would have had to roam the fields alone, in search of Kingsfoil and whatnots…"

Oblivious of Ioreth's litany on the woes of old age, Lothíriel pouted. "Does that make me a good person?"

Ioreth stopped abruptly in the middle of her rant and exclaimed, "Why would you believe you are not a good person?"

The young girl shrugged. "It seems I have not one true friend and there is no one to blame for it but me."

"What of the Halfling? You two do seem to get along well, do you not?"

"Yes, I suppose we do…" muttered Lothíriel.

Lately, she had been questioning the motives that had lead her to befriend Merry in the first place. Had she not just been curious about Hobbits and the Shire? Had she had a single serious conversation with him? Had she bothered to think about how he felt, he who had nearly died on the battlefield, so far away from his home?

"What happened, child?" Ioreth inquired, frowning.

"I have offended someone, nay I have outright insulted them…" said Lothíriel somberly, before taking a gulp of her fortifying concoction. "I was a prat and have dishonoured my father's name."

"Oh, such drastic words! I'd wager you've only told some lady that her dress did not suit her as well as she might have thought," said Ioreth, rolling her eyes. "Yet if it troubles you so much, go and apologize!"

"It would be useless to apologize. They will not hear me, and I do not deserve to be forgiven."

"Nonsense," Ioreth objected firmly. "A genuine apology is never useless."

"I'm afraid that it might make matters worse than they already are," admitted Lothíriel. "I've recently discovered that I am not as skilled with words as I had fancied myself to be."

"Be sincere and it shall be fine," the old lady assured her and then, rubbing her wrists, she added, "Ah, this pain will not go away… what a curse it is to grow old!"

That day, Ioreth had nothing more to say regarding forgiveness – yet she had such lengthy complaints to make regarding arthritis –, but what she had already told Lothíriel had been enough. She had to stop being a coward and therefore she had decided she would go to Rohan, after all, how could she not? Perhaps she'd fail to earn Éomer's forgiveness, but should she not be present to bid goodbye to the Hobbits, who would travel back to the Shire some time after the burial of King Théoden?

Oh well, visiting the kingdom of the Rohirrim would be a good learning experience, at the very least. She was still unsure her presence would be welcomed at the burial, although it seemed her father would unknowingly shield her from the siblings' presumed animosity. Prince Imrahil had no clue as to why his daughter had been so gloomy lately and it brought Lothíriel some comfort, as she hardly could bear to disappoint her father as well.

* * *

On the way to Rohan, Lothíriel rode alone, for the most part. She never was far from her brothers, but she rarely spoke to them, for she preferred to admire the landscapes – while she had seen most of Gondor, she had not once been outside of it. Thanks to the warm weather and the clear sky, the journey was quite pleasant and, to Lothíriel's relief, the Rohirrim rode ahead of the Gondorians, sparing her the embarrassment to meet Éomer or Éowyn.

Almost a fortnight after they had left Minas Tirith, they came in view of Edoras, nestled in a valley between the mountains. Lothíriel saw the golden roof of Meduseld gleaming from afar and, even though the view was magnificent, it brought her back to her own stupidity – she could hear herself saying "life does not seem to be too sophisticated in Rohan" over and over. Indeed, wood seemed to replace stone, and most houses had straw roofs, like Meduseld, yet the city lacked no charm and the Rohirrim, no ingenuity.

Truth was, on this side of the Ered Nimrais, life seemed to be as enjoyable as it was in Gondor. The grasslands they had crossed ever since they had entered Rohan had a beauty of their own that none of the accounts Lothíriel had read or heard could quite render and it did remind her of a green sea. And for the first in her life, it truly occurred to her that there was more to the world than she could have ever imagined.

* * *

 **Part 2 – In Meduseld**

Lothíriel had had not intention to wander in the halls of Meduseld, but she had gotten lost on the way back to the chambers she was sharing with Erchirion. After having had a light breakfast with the other Gondorians, she had slipped away, pretexting to have an headache, and had soon found herself in a wide corridor where hunting trophies were hung on the walls. It was a strange sight, all these animal heads with their odd silhouettes and their deadpan eyes, and it was so distracting that she did not hear the footsteps of someone coming her way. It was only when he appeared in front of her that she realized she was not alone – although he clearly was more staggered to see her than she was to see him.

"Lothíriel! You came!" he exclaimed. "I knew not… I had not seen you, I thought…"

He was dressed in a manner quite different from what he had worn in Minas Tirith, where he had looked more like a soldier than a king. Clad in a green and gold garments, he appeared strikingly handsome and there was something regal about him, in the way he held his head high, in the way his eyes shone.

"I followed my father and my brothers," she said quickly, avoiding Éomer's clear blue gaze.

"Thus, you will be attending the burial?" he inquired.

Though there were no trace of resentment in his voice, Lothíriel felt herself shrinking – she was still overwhelmed with shame.

"Only if you allow me to," she said, and it was true that she had meant to ask for his permission, as awkward as it might be.

He considered her for a while, his face impassive, and then he declared, "You may come."

Lothíriel nodded silently, still staring at her feet. It was time for her to muster her courage and to have an honest discussion with him – was it not the perfect opportunity for her to apologize to him in due form? She shifted nervously, urging herself to speak promptly, and as she rose her head, their eyes met, for a brief moment.

She began to say, "Éomer, I…"

Yet Lothíriel almost immediately closed her mouth when she saw Éowyn heading their way.

"Lothíriel, I hope the _rusticity_ of your accommodations has not troubled your sleep," she sneered, staring down at the Gondorian maiden.

Her contemptuous tone mortified Lothíriel who instinctively retreated towards the nearest door, even though she knew not where it lead.

"My chambers are… they are very comfortable," she stuttered in a rather inelegant manner. "I… I should get going…"

And she left hurriedly, leaving the two siblings alone in the corridor – it'd take her another ten minutes to find her room, but hopefully they would not be aware of this.

"I am surprised she deigned come all the way here, in these remote halls of ours," Éowyn commented sharply, once Lothíriel was out of sight. "Does she not fear we feed her only raw meat and rock-hard bread?"

"She came for the burial," said Éomer.

His sister frowned and said, her tone dripping with scorn: "Did she? Ah, it is true she greatly admires the valor of our people, she'd surely want to pay homage to our late king."

"Before you arrived, I was under the impression she was about to…"

"To what? Insult you once more?"

"No, I believe she was about to apologize to me. I daresay she seemed… moved, I had never seen her like that."

Éowyn let out a scoff. "Ah, dear brother, what are you hoping for? I say, she was not moved, she was merely distraught at having to face us both… Perhaps she believes she can fool you once more, yet she is not so proud when I am around."

Éomer still thought Éowyn was judging Lothíriel too harshly, however he kept this for himself – his sister only meant to protect him. "Once you will be wed to Faramir, she will be your cousin," he remarked instead.

"Oh, well… I would rather have her as a cousin than as a sister." And she sighed, passing her arm around her brother's and leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Yet I reckon you are more in need of a sister than a cousin," said Éomer, chuckling.

"Well, chose one of our young Eorlingas, our lands lack no pretty and vigorous maidens! It shall be a relief for me, should you be betrothed or married when I leave for Gondor."

Éomer smiled but remained silent.

He had thought the anger and the disappointment caused by Lothíriel's unfortunate words on Rohan had smothered the tender feelings he had harbored for her. He had also believed that being back in Edoras and putting to rest his uncle would have made him forget everything Prince Imrahil's charming daughter. But stumbling upon her in Meduseld, seeing her so confused, so embarrassed, when he had believed she had stayed in Minas Tirith, that had shaken him to the core. Was not the mere fact that she had chosen to journey to Rohan with her father and her brothers a sign that she was being repentant? He dearly wished they would have had time for a proper discussion, but it seemed this would have to wait.

* * *

The burial was a sorrowful ceremony, yet it was quite beautiful too. The Rohirrim paid a touching homage to their late king, and they shed many tears, and they sang many songs in their language. An impressive crowd had gathered to bid farewell to King Théoden and though they grieved, they were also honoured by the presence of the many lords of Gondor, and especially King Aragorn, as well as that of the Elven folk. And as strange as it might be, it did good to everyone to weep together, as if their tears were washing away their bad memories.

* * *

The evening following the burial, Lothíriel skipped dinner, having no appetite for food or company. She sought solitude in her chambers and for the first time in many weeks, her melancholy had nothing to do with Éomer. All these people mourning for their king, and for all those who had fallen on the Pelennor fields and before the gate of Mordor, it only reminded her of how scared she had been that her father or her brothers would find death during the war.

The sleepless nights she had spent pacing around the towers, in Dol Amroth, the endless hours, fearing to see the black veils of the corsair ships cover the blue sea, fearing a messenger would bring terrible tidings from Minas Tirith… Being left alone in Belfalas had been quite an ordeal, yet she had not once complained about it. During the war, there were more pressing matters than her worries and, after the end of it, she had realized her family had relatively been spared – relatively, for her cousin Boromir had been slain by Orcs, her uncle Denethor had perished in the funeral pyre he had lighted for himself, and Faramir, dear Faramir, had narrowly escaped death. But all in all, she could not complain, she still had her father and her three brothers…

That night was unpleasant, for she was haunted by nightmares, but when she woke up, on the next morning, she decided she was done with self-pity. She could not spend all her stay in Rohan hugging the walls in corridors and skipping meals! She thought she ought to have inherit some of her father's courage, perhaps even some of his wisdom, although that seemed uncertain for the moment, and thus she should be able to apologize to Éomer – whether he chose to forgive her or not was his choice and she would have to learn to live with the consequences of her actions.

She sought the counsel of Erchirion, to whom she was the closest to, among her three brothers – to him, she never hid her secrets long and he was also the only one in the family who minded not being a bit harsh with her, for her own good. He knew her so well that, upon seeing her enter his room, he could tell from her expression that he would finally get the full confession of this incident involving Éomer that had occurred in Minas Tirith.

"What happened between the two of you?" asked Erchirion.

His face was still and his tone was serious, but deep down he was impatient to hear what Lothíriel was about to tell him. He had elaborated some hypothesises of his own regarding the falling out of King Éomer and his sister, yet he was sure he was nowhere near the truth.

"I… I have spoken ill of Rohan… of its people…"

"Lothíriel, what did you say?" inquired her brother, sternly.

"I told him I deemed life in Rohan to be… rustic… less sophisticated than…"

"Oh," sighed Erchirion, rolling his eyes. "How could you be so tactless? And, frankly, 'tactless' seems too kind a word to qualify your behavior."

"To be honest, I was under the impression I was merely enouncing facts –"

"Lothíriel!"

She had reddened with shame. "Do not worry, Erchirion, I've had plenty of time to ponder over these words I have said and it has long sunk into my skull that my ignorance and my rudeness are quite outstanding. Could I perhaps have been adopted? No child of our father would have acted like I did."

"As baffling as it may be, I can assure you our mother gave birth to four children and that you really are the last of us," said Erchirion, smiling. "Then it really did shake you to your core? If you are willing to admit you can sometimes be… blunt... Ah, but not only did you insult him, you must have also crushed his heart."

"I presume he has recovered fully by now and he shall soon forget the snooty Gondorian maiden who once called Rohirrim peasants."

Erchirion patted her head, in a very patronizing manner. "Poor Lothíriel, I'm afraid there is something that is still eluding you."

"What is it?" she wondered, her eyes widening with apprehension.

"King Éomer, he was enamoured with you."

"He might have been infatuated with me, or an idea he had of me, yet it was not serious and must have vanished the moment I so blatantly belittled his kingdom and his people."

"You are so clueless, dear sister," whispered Erchirion and he smirked.

"Pray, how could be more informed about this than I? Have you been spying on us, perhaps?"

"And you, have you ever taken a good look at him or have you been too engrossed by your own person to notice King Éomer was completely mesmerized by you?"

"How could you…?" And Lothíriel was reddening again.

"I heard him talk to Elphir," said Erchirion. "Anyhow, you not only have insulted him, you also have discarded his feelings quite roughly," he added flatly.

She buried her face in her hands, eyes closed, and she felt her determination leave her.

"I shan't dare apologize to him…"

"You must, Lothíriel. At the very least, he deserves closure."

She nodded awkwardly. It was clear there was something bothering her.

"What is on your mind exactly?"

"Erchirion, I…"

"Please do not tell me you have also offended lady Éowyn?" he asked in a low voice. "I must say, she does scare me a bit…"

"No, no… Well, she bears me no love, but… no," said Lothíriel. "Lately I have been thinking a lot about Éomer and I have realized one of the main reasons I have felt so miserable was that I have hurt someone I have become rather fond of… It appears I have fallen for him as well."

"Oh, Lothíriel…" said Erchirion, shaking his head slowly. "You are surpassing yourself, are you not? Will you… will you tell him?"

"No," replied Lothíriel. "I will apologize to him, but I won't tell him I… He needs not to know the maiden who insulted him happens to love him. He might beware of me, he might believe I am only toying with him, in a rather cruel manner, and I could not blame him for that."

"He could still love you."

"I believe I have ruined that for good…"

Her brother shrugged. "He seems a bit naïve, I would not be surprised if he fell for you once more."

"I doubt it…" muttered Lothíriel, frowning.

Whatever Erchirion had heard, she could not imagine she'd ever manage to impress Éomer ever again, for she was still convinced what he had probably most liked about her was probably her looks. And he had surely understood by then that her appearance had been deceiving, had he not?

* * *

 **Part 3 – The Apology**

Two days had passed since the burial of King Théoden when a great banquet was thrown in Meduseld in honour of the many guests that had traveled from Gondor, as well as in honour of the Hobbits who would soon head back to the Shire and of the Elves who were also on their way home. In fact, it was one of the last times the Fellowship of the Ring was gathered under the same roof – with the exception, sadly, of Boromir –, although most of the people present that night were unaware of it. For the Rohirrim, this feast was the occasion to put behind them the difficult months they had been through collectively and to look to the future with optimism, a state of mind which their young King Éomer seemed to embody perfectly.

In that instant, as food and ale were consumed with great abundance, Éomer's mind was focused on far more trivial matters than the fate of his kingdom. From the dais, he was peering down at the long tables filling the halls, where Rohirrim, Gondorians and Elves sat together, happily celebrating once again the end of the war. If Éowyn had asked him, he would have denied it quite vehemently, but, truth was, he was not merely gazing at the crowd, he was searching for Lothíriel. Her father, Prince Imrahil, was seated not far from Éomer, just to the right of King Aragorn, and her brothers were also there, yet she was nowhere to be seen and he wondered if she was even attending the feast – she was being eerily discreet ever since she had come to Edoras.

And then he spotted her, at one of the long tables, somewhere in the middle of the hall, far from the dais. Lothíriel had somehow found a place among a group of young maidens and, although it probably was not her intention, she stood out among them, with her long black hair and her tall frame. The fluttering light of the many candles lit in the hall made it hard for Éomer to discern what she was doing – apart from eating, obviously – but she seemed to be listening to some stories one of the girls was excitedly telling the others who giggled merrily.

As of late, Éomer had seen her but briefly, at the burial and that one time, in the corridor, right after he had arrived in Meduseld, however it had been enough for him to notice she had changed. Lothíriel was paler even than usual and she had seemed nervous, easily startled by the merest sound, and Éomer could only imagine the reasons why she had waned like that. Prince Imrahil had told him his daughter had been ill in Minas Tirith, before their departure, and coincidentally, this illness had developed right after their little _incident_ – well, this was something Prince Imrahil was unaware of.

It was yet another one of his thoughts he would not share with Éowyn, but Éomer was convinced Lothíriel was sincerely repentant for what she had said. And perhaps he had been right, perhaps she had really intended to apologize to him, perhaps she had understood her mistake. He wondered if she'd try to approach him, if she'd seek to talk to him alone… He had to admit it, this was a very agreeable prospect, even though he could already hear Éowyn tell him he was too soft-hearted and too easily impressed by beauty. Yet, regarding Lothíriel, he liked to think he had been right and that there was more to her than meets the eye.

* * *

At the banquet, Lothíriel had chosen to take place at one those long tables, where Rohirrim and Gondorians mingled, and she soon found herself surrounded by a group of blonde-haired maidens who all greeted her warmly – it had crossed her mind she could find a seat among the Elves, but it would not have reasonable. For once in her life, she was gracious with these young girls of her age and she patiently answered to all their inquiries about Gondor and about her family, before listening their tales. Now and then, her eyes darted toward the dais, where her father was seated, along with King Aragorn and Queen Arwen, as well as Faramir, and she marveled at them, until her gaze fell on Éomer. He was radiant, as if being home had given him a boost, and for Lothíriel, it was like seeing him for the first time, and she felt the knot in her belly tightened. In Meduseld, he was at the center of everything, thus how could she hope to have a word alone with him?

"There will be some dancing after the banquet, I do hope King Éomer and his men shall join us," said the girl sitting next to Lothíriel.

"Can you imagine dancing with the King? Or with one of these handsome Gondorians?" said another one, beaming. "Although they say Elves are the finest dancers…"

And they all chuckled while Lothíriel did her best to keep smiling. So, the young ladies of Rohan too were extremely preoccupied by festivities and bachelors… Well, she was not so different from them after all, for she did like dancing and singing, and there was at least one young man who haunted her thoughts.

"Lothíriel, this lord, over there, he is one of your brothers, is he not?"

They were, not so discreetly, pointing at Amrothos who always had the most success with girls – even Lothíriel had to admit it, of the four siblings, he was the handsomest.

"Yes, and he is an excellent dancer," she told them. "I am sure he will be pleased to make your acquaintance."

This reply was welcomed by another round of giggles and then, they turned their attention to Éomer.

"I do wonder who shall get her hands on the King first. I would not mind twirling with him…"

"Oh, we already know our King's attention will focus on a certain someone."

Hearing this, Lothíriel straightened.

"Who would that be?" she asked, as innocently as she could.

Everyone else seemed to know who this 'certain someone' was.

"Rosefled," they answered, gesturing at a maiden who sat two tables away from them.

This Rosefled's silhouette was similar to Éowyn's, noted Lothíriel, for she was tall and slender, and she appeared to be athletic. She had long blonde hair, like liquid gold, and it was intricately braided, in a very elegant manner. As for her eyes, they were of a marvelous green and they were set on Éomer.

"She and King Éomer had gotten close before the war, or so they say… I do remember she used to be his favorite dance partner."

"And she has been waiting for his return quite eagerly."

"Of course, she would have…" Lothíriel muttered to herself, not listening anymore to what the maidens had to say about Rosefled.

Perhaps it was better, if Éomer was reunited with this charming young lady, she thought bitterly. She would at least never insult his people, nor would she struggle to understand them, and what better Queen for the Rohirrim than one of their own? This notion did upset Lothíriel more than she would have like, for she was not familiar with jealousy and she never really had dreamed of being wed to Éomer. It was far too abstract for her and it had already been quite complicated and painful to realize she had fallen in love with him. She decided it'd be better for the moment to focus on her meal and she helped herself with no less than three servings of apple pie which she devoured rather fiercely, as she was brooding.

When the music started, Lothíriel left the table with the other young girls who flocked together, giggling and pointing at a few men who had also rose from their seats. While her new companions chose their partners – one of them did get her hands on Amrothos – she debated whether she'd dance or not, for she felt a bit too full because of the pie. The other girls quickly scattered, so did the young men, and she peered around the vast hall in search of Éomer – she needed all her concentration to spot him, for it was very crowded in there. As she had presumed, he was dancing, and with none other than the exquisite Rosefled, whose golden hair matched his. It was a strange and unsettling emotion that seized her when she saw him laughing with her, holding her hands, and Lothíriel wondered if he had been so genuinely happy with her, during their short time together in Minas Tirith. She stared at them, musing on this love she felt for him and that she had so stupidly ignored as she had tried to convince herself that Éomer was just another one of her _unusual friends_.

"You did everything you could to keep him away, did you not?" she muttered to herself and she decided she had tarried long enough at the banquet, for tears threatened to fell from eyes and she had had enough of weeping.

It was quite a challenge to navigate amidst this cheerful folk – she did wonder how the Hobbits managed not to be run over at times like these – but she was swift and flexible, and she had good reflexes. In a few minutes, she had reached the smaller rooms, behind the main halls, where the atmosphere was quieter, and it crossed her mind she could use some more hot tea to cheer herself. Thus, she was following servants on their way to the kitchens, when a hand fell on her shoulder, grabbing it softly. She spun around, thinking one of her voracious brothers was on a quest to find more food, and found herself facing Éomer.

"Am I forbidden to go to the kitchens?" she blurted, blinking like an idiot.

"No, why would you…?" he said, as bewildered as she was. "I saw you leaving the banquet, I was… curious."

"I was merely looking for some hot tea," Lothíriel said, doing her best to conceal her anxiousness. "And perhaps some more of this apple pie…"

He smiled, nodding. "It was very delicious indeed."

Without really thinking about it or worrying about the consequences of what she was about to say, Lothíriel took a deep breath and asked:

"Éomer, may I have a word with you? In private…?"

"Yes," he replied.

He lead her through a small corridor and into a small sitting room which had most likely not been used for years – there was a thick layer of dust on all the furniture and the tapestries. It was not the setting Lothíriel had imagined for this conversation, but she could make do with it. Having taken in her surrounding, she took a few steps towards Éomer, but she remained silent, absorbed in her thoughts.

"I believe you should speak first," he said, staring at her with expectance.

"Oh, yes, of course… Éomer, I… I wish to apologize for what I have said back in Minas Tirith. I was awfully rude to you and to your people and, though I am not proud to admit it, I was not even aware of my own stupidity at the time."

He was about to say something, but she gestured at him and continued:

"I shall not try to persuade you it was a mere blunder from my part, for I have realized I have treated you poorly overall, and I do not expect to be forgiven either. I simply hope you will understand those words were those of a foolish maiden and that they do not reflect the opinion of my house on you or your kingdom. And… and I should thank you for having spared my father… the disappointment… Well, I sincerely thank you for your discretion, even though I am undeserving of it…"

This time she seemed to be done and she was waiting for his verdict, nervously twisting between her fingers one of her dress's ribbons.

"Lothíriel, you are forgiven," he said with such gentleness that her face was flushed. "I have seen how this situation has affected you and only genuine contrition would have brought you here."

"You are too kind, Éomer, too kind…" her voice trailed, and she frowned a little. "I do wish you the best, from the bottom of my heart."

"Why are you being so solemn?"

"You are a king and you said so yourself, the last months have been filled with hardships. Thus, I wish life will be sweet to you from now on."

He considered her, puzzled.

"Lothíriel, you speak as if this is our last meeting."

She deemed it was indeed their last meeting, in a way. They'd see each other again, for she would be staying in Rohan a while with her father and her brothers, and their paths would cross on several occasions – the wedding of Éowyn and Faramir would be the first of these. Yet Lothíriel thought it would never be just the two of them, like it had been in Minas Tirith.

"Oh no, I merely… I meant to do this in due form and it seemed I should…"

She was at loss for words and Éomer decided to put an end to her struggle.

"I thank you for your good wishes," he said. "Then we are friends, are we not?"

"We are, although I've come to think my friendship comes with little gain."

"You need not depreciate yourself like this. I was sincere, I forgive you."

"I heard you well, but… I am not sure I am yet so different from this girl who was so prompt to belittle your kingdom, in some orchards of Gondor," admitted Lothíriel and she added, with growing confidence, "Fortunately, I happen to be a tad stubborn and I intend on correcting this habit of mine to emit opinions on the sole basis of silly prejudices. And I shall start by improving my knowledge on Rohan."

Éomer beamed at her. "And how will you accomplish such feats?"

"Oh, I have a few ideas," she replied vaguely, for she was not sure she should tell him about it.

"Well, I am looking forward to it. Shall we return to the feast, now that matters are settled between us?"

Lothíriel almost agreed, yet she had a flash of him and Rosefled dancing together, and she said, "I will go get some tea and withdraw in my chambers, if you do not mind."

"Alright… But you shall no more flee before me, shall you not? I will have a word with Éowyn…"

"Worry not, I will not flee," Lothíriel assured him with a smile and she lingered a little, in the doorway. "Thank you, Éomer. Your forgiveness means a lot to me."

He watched her leave, happy, but also slightly concerned. She had seemed genuinely grateful, however she was still hesitant and he would have liked to know the reason behind this – but, he had finally learned it, Lothíriel did not open her heart so easily.

* * *

 **Part 4 – Old Gamling's farm**

With the help of a new friend, Lothíriel's 'few ideas' quickly became a clearly established plan to which her father had agreed – it would have been surprising, had he said no. Even though everything was ready, she would still wait for the Hobbits and the Elves to depart from Edoras before taking the first step and this would occur a couple of days after the feast. And while Lothíriel was quite absorbed by her projects and, although she'd loath to admit it, by keeping an eye on pretty Rosefled, she could not forget that soon Meriadoc would leave Rohan and that it was time she was sincere with him as well.

Yet she had no need to look for him, for one day he knocked at his door, quite early in the morning.

Lothíriel had been expecting one of the Rohirrim girls, but she beamed when she saw the Hobbit, for she was truly happy to see him. "Merry!"

"Lothíriel, I seem to never be able to find you, these days, thus I came here since I have a favor to ask you."

"What is it, Merry?" she asked, curious.

"I must say it is an official request. I will be knighted by King Éomer this afternoon and I would very much like for you to be there."

"I shall gladly attend the ceremony," she replied, her smile widening. "It is quite an honour you are bestowed by the King, yet I reckon it is fully deserved."

He was cute with his curly hair which she sometimes wanted to ruffle, like she would do to a child, yet she had to remind herself he was older than her – and also that, as small as he was, he had defeated the terrible Witch-king.

"Thank you," he said, bowing elegantly. "I do have another inquiry…"

"Have you?"

"Please excuse me for asking me now, but since I have not met you once in weeks… Have you perhaps been avoiding me lately, Lothíriel?"

"Avoiding you? Certainly not, I have been a bit busy as of late…" Her voice trailed, for she could not bring herself to lie to the Hobbit. "I have not treated you very well, have I?"

"Oh, you broke my heart," he teased her.

"I never asked you how it feels to have fought against the Witch-king," she said in low voice.

"Wonderful, I believe, for my name shall forever be associated to this great deed in songs and lays and generations of Hobbits will sing the praises of the brave Meriadoc Brandybuck of Brandy Hall."

His enthusiasm and good mood were such that Lothíriel could not help but chuckle a little. "Surely. However, what I meant was that I never really took in consideration the fact that… this battle almost cost you your life."

The Hobbit shook his head. "There is no reason for either of us to dwell on these gloomy matters."

"Still, I should have better acknowledged the ordeals you had to go through during the war."

Merry looked at her, surprised. "You are being quite grave."

"Well, I…"

"Has this anything to do with you and King Éomer going at length to stay away from each other?"

Lothíriel let out a sigh. "Yes and no."

The Hobbit would have liked to pry into this matter, but he feared it would be discourteous. And if there was one thing he had understood about Lothíriel it was that she barely spoke of her inner thoughts.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck, it has been a privilege to befriend you," she declared at last, genuinely.

He blushed a little and replied, a bit awkwardly, "And it has been a great joy to make your acquaintance, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."

He then grabbed her hand and kissed it, quite formally. A while, they stood facing each other in silence, and suddenly, they both broke into laughter.

"Was this not worthy of a lay?" said Merry.

"Absolutely!"

"Then you will come, this afternoon?"

"I will," she promised.

Thereupon, he went away to prepare for his knighting – he said something about an armour that needed some cleaning – and, as she went back into her room, Lothíriel decided she'd gift him with one of her brooches, a wonderful piece of work, with silver swans and sapphires. It was not much, but she wanted to give this small token of their friendship.

In mid-August, it was bittersweet, to watch him leave with his companions. She understood how greatly he must have missed the Shire, that he had perhaps thought he would never see again, during the darkest days of the war, but she wondered when they would meet again. She could foresee it was not farewell yet, however where would the roads lead them? She knew not and she hoped they'd both find happiness, he in the north, she in the south.

* * *

Whatever Lothíriel was doing to get more acquainted with the Rohirrim's lifestyle, she was not doing in it in Meduseld, nor in Edoras. Éomer had completely lost track of her, to the point that he would have believed she had gone back to Gondor, had she not been so serious when she had told him she planned to learn more about Rohan. If he really gave it some thoughts, she seemed to have disappeared some time after the departures of the Hobbits and that had occurred a little more than a fortnight ago. At the beginning, he did believe she was merely busy, as she had stated she would be, but he was now seriously wondering where she had gone. Since Prince Imrahil was not especially worried about his daughter and her whereabouts, she most likely was doing well, and one morning Éomer chose to ask him if he knew what Lothíriel was up to – too bad if he was not very discreet.

Upon hearing his inquiry, Prince Imrahil laughed merrily. "It seems all my children have scattered throughout Rohan. Elphir and Erchirion have gone hunting in the Westfold, Amrothos is wandering somewhere in the East Emnet, and even Lothíriel has gone to stay in a farm, a few miles from here." He eyed Éomer, smiling mischievously, and added, "I believe she needed to spend some time in the countryside, to ponder over important matters."

Disconcerted, Éomer pretended to know nothing about these _important matters_. "I have heard she was ill before our departure from Minas Tirith, I hope the journey was not too difficult for her."

"Oh, worry not, her health is excellent. She was affected by the war, of course, but she will soon recover from it all."

Here and there, Éomer had gathered that Lothíriel had remained in Dol Amroth throughout the war and that seemed to be a good thing, for it meant she had been spared the worst of it. However, those days when she had faced alone the threat of the pirates of Umbar, all the while worrying about the fate of her father and her brothers, had leave a mark on her – that was what he had sometimes caught the glimpse of in her eyes.

"Then a prolonged stay in our meadows should indeed do her good. There is something quite soothing to the soul in the gentle sway of daisies in the summer breeze."

Prince Imrahil was not distracted by Éomer's lyrical speech. "A prolonged stay? I must say I bade her to come back to Edoras within the next days, for I shall not spend another fortnight deprived of my dear daughter. It would simply be insufferable."

He had said these last words in such a manner that Éomer felt they were directed at him.

"And where has she gone exactly?"

"In a charming place where a man called Gamling dwells. Lothíriel was invited there by his granddaughter and, surprisingly, she agreed to go. I daresay it seems she is rather enraptured by your beautiful kingdom."

"I am glad to hear this," said Éomer who dearly hoped his face was not reddening, as he felt he was under the benevolent scrutiny of Prince Imrahil.

"I'd wager that with a steed as fine as yours, you could reach the farm no later than this afternoon. Such pleasure it would bring with me, should at least one of my children return to me."

Éomer needed not be told twice and, around noon, he was departing from Edoras for what he had said to be a 'quick excursion along the Snowbound'.

* * *

Old Gamling's farm had been build in the middle of vast prairies, a mile or so from the Snowbound. By any means, it was a small house and the barns surround it were much larger, for there humans were outnumbered by horses, cows and sheep. There Éomer was welcomed with great deference, but also with some surprise, for he had come alone and unannounced and he surely had no intention to volunteer to help with harvest. It was only after the young King had declared he was in search of Lothíriel that Old Gamling and his family understood the situation and there was some laughter when they escorted him to the pen where Lothíriel was playing with children. It took a few chaotic minutes, during which toddlers and dogs run around excitedly, but in the end Éomer and Lothíriel were given some privacy.

Her long black hair was braided in the fashion of Rohan and a few wild flowers were entwined in it. She wore a simple white, that was stained in several places, and her cheeks were flushed, for she had spent the day in the outdoors, exploring the meadows around the farm. Dear Ioreth would have been scandalized, had she seen them in that moment, for Lothíriel's outfit was simply not proper and, while there were no donkey nearby, she was surrounded by a dozen sheep – yet it was a sight that delighted Éomer.

"Lothíriel," he said promptly. "Why have you disappeared like this?"

"I told you, I wanted to learn more about Rohan and I thought immersion would do me good," she explained.

She had also thought he'd be good for him not to see her awhile, but it might have appeared a bit pretentious of her to say this to him.

"Has this been an agreeable experience?"

"Very much so, although I have greatly underestimated the difficulties caused by the language barrier," she replied, giggling. "The younger people here all have a decent grasp of Westron and have been gracious enough to teach me some of the basics of Eorling, however my conversations with the elders are laborious at best. But what brings you here, Éomer? Have you some dealings to do with old Gamling?"

"I am here on behalf of your lord father," he said, a bit too seriously.

"My father? Is he well?"

"He is," he assured her quickly, "yet he is missing you."

Their gazes met and Lothíriel said, "I do miss him too."

"Won't you come back to Edoras?" he asked, taking her hands in his. "We have so few time left together…"

The contact of his skin against hers made Lothíriel shiver. In this instant, she felt she could have done anything to please him, anything to make him happy, for he thoroughly deserved it.

"I will follow you."

His face broke into a smile, as relief washed through him. "Do you think perhaps I could the spend the night here? I too could enjoy some of the fresh air."

"Oh, we can find a place somewhere in one of the barns for you," she teased him, staring at him adoringly.

Chuckling, he let go her hands, only to cup her face.

"I am glad I have found you, Lothíriel," he said, putting a kiss on her forehead.


	3. Dol Amroth

It took me some time but here it is!

This chapter was supposed to set mostly in Dol Amroth, but in the end only a third of it is set there (hence the title I kept).

I think I am partial to the sea, although I am sure those green meadows in Rohan are very beautiful too. It must be hard for someone who grew up in Dol Amroth to move so far from the sea (especially considering that the sea in Tolkien's work is so important), although I'm not implying that Lothíriel spent the rest of her life longing for it. It's just that sea longing is a common theme in Tolkien's work.

Again, thank you for the likes/follows :)

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – Dol Amroth**

 **T.A. 3020 – Minas Tirith**

 **Part 1 – Plum Cakes and Flowers**

Ioreth's cousin was an old woman, as to be expected, yet she was very lively and not once did she complain about an aching joints and back. Moreover, the plum cakes she had baked were a delight, so was the honey she had put in the tea. Thus, Lothíriel was quite satisfied with her afternoon so far, even though it was not what she had had in mind when had woken up in the morning.

Over the course of a year, there was at least one thing that had not changed about Lothíriel and it was that she still spent more time with old people than young people – and especially with Ioreth, when she was in Minas Tirith. And now that she had been made the acquaintance of Ioreth's cousin, it seemed Lothíriel would spend the rest of the Summer in this cozy parlor, where every piece of furniture was covered with lace doilies of all sorts and sizes.

The old ladies were chatting merrily and, like almost everyone in Minas Tirith, one particular topic was the object of many speculations. A week from then, Faramir, the son of the old steward Denethor, was to be wedded to Éowyn, the princess from Rohan who had, with the help of the Halfling Meriadoc Brandybuck, slain the Witch-King. Some thought the child born of such a union would probably be a formidable soldier, but Ioreth and her cousin's concerns were more prosaic. They mostly wondered about the food and the dancing, and the merrymakings that would be held throughout the city, while Lothíriel, utterly silent, was stuffing herself with cakes.

There was no denying the prospect of this wedding rejoiced her, for if anyone deserved happiness, it was her dear cousin. Poor Faramir had gone through so many hardships over the last years that it felt fate itself was rewarding him and Lothíriel hoped the pain she still glimpsed in his eyes now and then would vanish, at last – although it was in his nature to be melancholic. Yet, unlike Ioreth and her cousin, the young girl did not care much for the details regarding the wedding, for she was mostly preoccupied with the bride's brother and the date of his arrival.

It had been well over nine months since she had last seen Éomer and, even though they had parted on _excellent_ terms, she felt very anxious at the idea of being reunited with him. To be precise, one half of her absolutely thrilled this long separation would end, while the other half was genuinely terrified their reunion would turn out to be underwhelming.

What if he had finally realized she was not worth the trouble?

Ah, but their last days together in Rohan had been so sweet…

* * *

They had had a fortnight together, a blissful fortnight in the waning summer of Rohan.

Their walks had been different from those they had done in Minas Tirith, and it was not just the scenery that had changed. There was no denying Éomer was still quite smitten with Lothíriel, and he had been quick to forgive her, but he had learned a few things along. Thus, this time, instead of staring and talking excitedly, he had focused on listening and it had been with great delight that he had welcomed each of Lothíriel's words.

She had spoke of many things: of the blue sea, in Dol Amroth, which she loved to admire from her bedroom's windows, of the fear she had felt during the war, and that she would probably never forget, and of her mother, whom she did not remember at all, for she had passed not long after her birth – that was a pain Éomer understood too well. A lot of what she had told him in Rohan were things she had never discussed with anyone from outside her family and it was new for her to open up so wholly to a person she had known for such a short time. She was not one who had many intimate friends and so far, she had always thought her father and her brothers were enough for her to be happy. And yet, as days passed, she realized Éomer had quickly become important to her, essential even.

There was a place they had often visited together, a wonderful garden located behind Meduseld, a private place reserved for the king and his kin. It was unlike all gardens Lothíriel had seen before, for it was not neat, nor organized, but wild and unruled. Plants grew as they pleased: ivy spreading on walls, wisteria hanging from old arches and thick moss covering cracked slabs. There was a pond too, in which lazy fish swam among waterlilies, and even though it was a bit muddy around it, that was where she preferred to sit, on a creaky wooden bench – whenever Éomer took place beside her, she feared it would collapse under his weight.

"Have you ever come here with anyone else?" Lothíriel asked one day, not long before her departure.

"Éowyn and I used to come here often, so did our uncle and cousin."

"Of course, yet I meant…" Her voice trailed, as her cheeks reddened, and she stared at the pond in front of her.

"Who do you have in mind?"

"At the banquet, before the Hobbits departed… I saw you dancing…"

Éomer's blue eyes twinkled. "Ah, those young girls have talked about Rosefled and I, have they not?"

"Perhaps, they have… Well, they did tell me a thing or two and I thought…"

"You thought what?" He did enjoy seeing her so flustered and he meant to torment her a little – it seemed only fair, for she had been the cause of quite some disturbance in his life already.

"I thought you looked good together," declared Lothíriel in a tone she hoped was detached.

He laughed merrily, stretching his legs, his toes almost dipping in the pond. He liked this duality within her: how she could appear to be so confident, almost haughty, and yet be so clumsy at times, when she was out of her comfort zone. It was perhaps a flaw, but he somehow found it very endearing, especially since he had understood he could turn it to his advantage.

"I dare not believe it, yet I seem to discern a hint of jealousy in your voice, dear Lothíriel," said Éomer, grinning widely.

She tried to maintain a cool composure, but, ultimately, she failed to conceal how discomfited she felt. She had hoped to be much more subtle about her inquiry – perhaps she should have paid attention to Erchirion's advices, but it was too late for that.

"Are there any reasons for me to be jealous?"

"This an excellent question, and you will have to enlighten me on the matter. Pray, Lothíriel, why would you be jealous of Rosefled? Has she achieved anything you have not?"

She looked at him sideways, batting her lashes furiously. "I cannot presume of any feelings she might harbor for you, nor you for her, but I… I found it hard to see the two of you twirling and laughing together. You seemed so happy, you truly did, and the mere memory of it has me worried still. I… I believed you would never again look upon me as kindly as you used to, and even now it is quite a distressing prospect."

"Ah, Lothíriel…" he said, as he cupped her face with one hand, gently forcing her to meet his gaze. "It should be obvious to you, but I suppose you have yet to properly informed about the situation."

He was leaning close to her, so close that she felt his breath brush the skin of her forehead. A pleasant shiver ran down her back, but she stayed still, for she had so dearly wished for this moment to come that she was suddenly overwhelmed with emotions of all sorts.

His thumb caressed her lower lip, slowly and carefully, and then he dropped these words: "I love you, Lothíriel, I love you so much…"

He was the one who closed the gap between them, putting his mouth on hers with eagerness, as his hands moved down and slid around her waist. She responded well, matching his enthusiasm, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, tip-toeing as gracefully as she could. The kiss was far more marvelous than anything they might have imagined, and they completely lost themselves in it, realizing they had been craving for it since weeks.

Both were a little out of breath when they reopened their eyes.

"Has this managed to chase away your uncertainties?" he asked.

Lothíriel felt a bit dizzy and her cheeks seemed to be on fire – it took some effort to straighten herself. "I know not, I might have some lingering doubts…"

Éomer chuckled. "Of course, perhaps I shall have to be more convincing."

He leaned to kiss her again, but she put her hand on his mouth, gently. "Éomer, what you said… I… I feel it too." She paused, as her fingers traveled to his golden hair, playing with his locks. "I love you, I truly do. Please, do believe me, for I do not say these words lightly."

He beamed, welcoming her words with bliss.

"Ah, Lothíriel… I had hoped, I…" His lips were on hers before he could finish his sentence and whatever he had intended to say was lost in another kiss. A very long, very thorough one.

* * *

It was how, barely a week before Lothíriel was to leave Rohan and return to Dol Amroth, they had professed their love for one another. And nine months later, she was still blushing, every time she recalled this joyful moment and all those that had followed. The kisses had been a delight, from the first to the last one, but there had been more than that, much more than that. She had relished the physical proximity between them, yet she had been deeply moved by their growing intimacy. Each and every secret they had shared, little confidences they had made, and opinions of all sorts they had exchanged, not without some divergence, had forged a bond like no others between them.

And, truth be told, Lothíriel had greatly misjudged the difficulty of being parted from Éomer for so long. She had naively thought that, if she had managed to live the twenty first years of her life without him, it would not be much to have to wait a few months to be reunited with him. However, she had soon learned she could not so easily revert to the times before she had met the King of Rohan and fallen in love with him. How many nights she had spent wide awake, dwelling in memories of them together, longing for his presence by her side… Never had she thought of herself as one to cry over being sundered from a lover, yet tears had rolled down her cheeks on a few occasions, when doubt had assailed her and she had feared she had dreamed it all.

In the span of a summer, she had obviously changed much. Oh, there were some remnants of her old silly self that would quite never leave, and it seemed she'd never be as wise with words as her father could be, however there was solid hope she would become a fine lady who would know when to hold her tongue. And she had promised herself that she would be more attentive to the feelings of others. It did not mean she would have to befriend everyone she met, for that was not in her nature, but at least she would smile and exchange pleasantries.

While she had been in the company of Éomer, all of this had seemed so simple and within easy reach, but during this time apart from him, she had not been so sure the new and improved Lothíriel would last. And she was almost brooding, impatient as she was to see him, to confirm their feelings, and lost as she was in her thoughts, she had not realized Ioreth and her cousin were in the middle of a heated discussion.

"Lothíriel, dear, do you not agree they should have chosen jonquils instead of lilac?"

"Jonquils?" repeated Lothíriel. "Why would…?"

"Yellow is such a bright and cheerful color and I hear they bloomed in their fields, over there in Rohan," said Ioreth's cousin. "Yet the baker's wife told me she saw chariots full of lilac pots stationed nearby the citadel not two days ago."

"Lady Éowyn shall arrive soon, I'd wager she will want to make some changes," Ioreth said. "Lord Faramir may be a wise man and a brave captain, yet I believe he does not have an eye for pretty things. Do you not think so Lothíriel?"

"Well, I'm afraid he could never tell the difference between silk and velvet, however I know not if his ignorance of refinements has played any part in his choice of flowers for the wedding," she replied, very seriously.

And this rather harmless piece of information seemed to worry Ioreth and her cousin.

"Then, let us hope lady Éowyn has better taste than he does."

And the two old ladies resumed their conversation, reporting every single rumor that had been going around Minas Tirith for the last week.

Soon enough, Lothíriel's mind strayed far from these petty concerns. Jonquils, lilac or daisies, she had no preferences, as long as this wedding meant she would be reunited with Éomer. And eating more cakes, she wondered what color would suit _herself_ best, to welcome him the day he would arrive.

* * *

 **Part 2 – Sister's approval**

While Éomer was glad at the prospect of his sister being wed to Faramir, he was not so eager to be parted from her permanently – it was something he had never imagined would happen. On the one hand, Éowyn had never expressed any interest for matrimonial life, on the other, it had seemed far more probable she'd become the wife of one of the Rohirrim, and not of a Gondorian lord. Yet there they were, riding towards Minas Tirith, where the wedding would be held, and they were riding fast, as fast as they could, even though it meant they had little time left together. In Gondor, there were many people awaiting for them, brothers in arms, friends, and…

Such was their enthusiasm that they arrived in the city earlier than what had been planned and when the clatter of their horses' hooves was heard in the first tier, decorations had not quite all been put in place in the citadel. None of the siblings minded about these sorts of details, but the Gondorians did and by the time Éomer and Éowyn had reached the seventh level of Minas Tirith, a small welcoming committee had been put together in haste and a few banners had been deployed, for the sake of it.

Footmen had lined up, squires were ready to take care of horses, and a few members of the Council of Gondor greeted the Rohirrim, expressing their surprise at their rushed arrival and apologizing profusely for the lack of decorum. In a matter of minutes, some of Queen Arwen's ladies in waiting came to snatch away Éowyn, under the pretence that the bride-to-be had still to undergo many preparations – Éomer had no idea what it meant, neither did his sister, but he was not worried, for she would most likely be pampered. As for him, the King of Rohan, he exchanged polite remarks with the Gondorian lords present, till Prince Imrahil arrived, closely trailed by his three sons.

"Éomer, dear friend, it a pleasure to see you again in Minas Tirith, although, neither King Aragorn, neither Faramir or I were expecting you so soon," said Prince Imrahil, laughing softly. "According to your own messengers, you should have arrived no sooner than the day after tomorrow, yet it appears even the Rohirrim sometimes underestimate their horses' strength and speed."

"Prince Imrahil, I am glad to be back in Gondor," Éomer said, beaming. "And I suppose our horses too were eager to arrive, for after all, it is my sister's wedding we have come to celebrate."

He could not help but peer around, and even though he could easily spot Elphir, Erchirion and Amrothos standing right behind their father, there was no sign of Lothíriel – and he hardly could hide a hint of disappointment on his face.

"You would have surely noticed my dear daughter is not among us," Prince Imrahil told him, an amused smile curling his lips.

"I.. I hope she is well."

"Oh, she is, as always. Since your arrival was… slightly rushed, I am afraid we had no time to seek her. Lothíriel is in the lower parts of the town, visiting a lady whom I believe is a cousin of Ioreth, yet I may send someone to fetch her, should you feel the need to greet her without any more delay."

Éomer cleared his throat, trying his best to remain still. "My lord..."

Prince Imrahil's grey eyes twinkled and he clasped his hands together. "It is said that the people in my house are often gifted with foresight, for it runs in our blood since the old days of Numenor. However, I believe anyone with two working eyes would be able to guess what sort of feelings you and my daughter harbor for each other, and perhaps even the blind knows already."

Erchirion let out a small snort and beside him, it was clear that Elphir and Amrothos were struggling not to laugh. To them, it was still a mystery how their sister had managed to seduce Éomer, especially after having so promptly displayed her the less-than-flattering side of her character, but they enjoyed listening to their father's gentle taunting.

"That is... I" mumbled Éomer, caught unaware. Then he took a deep breath, collecting himself, and declared, a little bit stiffly, "I do think of your daughter very highly and very fondly, indeed, yet I cannot speak for her."

"I'd wager she does not hate you," said Prince Imrahil, gesturing at Éomer to follow him inside the citadel. "And again, this intuition of mine has nothing to do with foresight."

"Do not worry, Éomer, Ioreth shall let her join us for dinner tonight," Erchirion told him as they entered the main hall. "That is, if we managed to throw a feast worthy of you and your sister on such short notice."

"We had not intention to be a burden on our horsts," said Éomer, apologetically.

"Oh, we know. Both you and lady Éowyn had your reasons to hurry."

The little commotion caused by Éomer and Éowyn's early arrival was handled gracefully by the Gondorians and the King of Rohan was greeted by King Aragorn, Queen Arwen and his future brother-in-law Faramir. The latter could surely not complain about the disregard the Rohirrim had shown for protocol, on the contrary, his mood was excellent. Éowyn was still somewhere in the citadel, perhaps taking a bath or trying dresses, and she only reappeared in time for the small welcoming banquet that had been hastily prepared and to which Lothíriel came late – and she barely ate anything, for she was still full of plum cakes and also because being in the same halls as Éomer was too distracting.

* * *

Months ago, Éomer and Lothíriel had agreed on a secret meeting place, in the gardens of the citadel, nearby a small pavilion. Since they could not predict the exact circumstances of their reunion in Minas Tirith, the young girl had deemed it useful to designate a location where they could be together, far from prying eyes. Éomer was not so sure it was needed, but he did not have three nosy brothers like she did, and he had no objections to find himself in a small corner with Lothíriel, especially after these nine long months he had spent without her. Thus, that was where he was heading, after a copious dinner during which they had barely been able to exchange a few glances, and he wondered if she'd be waiting for him – he had had a very long and very serious conversation with King Aragorn that had delayed him.

He beheld her from afar: she was pacing around, in front of the pavilion, her long black hair flowing behind her and slight frown on her brow. A wide grin spread on his face and Éomer hurried, eager to hear her voice, to touch her.

"Have you been here long, Lothíriel?" he inquired, in a whisper, for fear he'd startle her.

"No," she said, although it had been almost two hours – but now that he was there, what did it matter?

They stood a few feet away from each other, their gazes locked, and after a few moments of silence and stillness, Lothíriel threw herself in his arms, quickly closing the gap between them. It filled Éomer with great joy that she had chosen to so and he held her tight, taking in her sweet scent and the softness of her skin.

"I hardly could believe it when my father announced me you had arrived already!"

"Rohirrim horses are the fastest of all Middle-earth."

"Perhaps," she said, smiling. "Are you not aware, though, that you have disturbed all these carefully devised preparations everyone has been working in Minas Tirith lately? I suppose the feast will not be as sumptuous as King Aragorn's wedding, however Faramir is the son of a steward, and he is well loved by the people. It will be a majestic celebration, and you and your sister should have been welcomed accordingly."

Éomer shrugged, chuckling. "Should I understand you are disappointed I have come earlier than expected? Because, by coming earlier, we ruined the grand entrance every inhabitant of Minas Tirith had been dreaming of for the last days?"

"No, I would have disappointed, had you arrived on time."

"I thought so..."

"So, King of Rohan, how have you fared these last months?"

"Winter was mild, the harvests should be exceptional this year, yet something was amiss."

"How strange… In Dol Amroth too, the weather has been wonderful and many flowers have bloomed in Spring, but, indeed, something was amiss too, in our lands."

"And what was it?"

She had to tiptoe to reach his lips, but she acted swiftly and nimbly, almost taking him by surprise – _almost_ , for he had been staring at her mouth for a while already. This kiss was not very elegant, nor very proper, for they had been deprived from each other for too long and both were young and quite vigorous. Eventually, they tempered their desire and their kiss grew softer and more delicate, even though their hands traveled to some daring places.

"I have missed you, You Highness," Lothíriel breathed at some point.

She was teasing him, however he did very much like it when she used his title.

"So did I…" he kissed her once more.

"I must admit that, during these last months, I was afraid you would realize your existence was more peaceful without me in your surroundings."

He laughed merrily, squeezing her against him. "Oh no, on the contrary, life was awfully dull without you, dear Lothíriel."

That night, they did not get any sleep. They had many things to discuss and most of it revolved around the fact that it had been difficult to be so far away from one another, although the distance had strengthened their feelings. And only when dawn came did they agreed to head back to their respective chambers, weary but happy.

* * *

Éomer was back in Gondor, and so was Éowyn, and Lothíriel knew she could not avoid her forever. First, Faramir himself had asked her to help his wife-to-be ease in Gondorian life, bringing up the fact that Lothíriel was his closest female relative – which was not exactly the truth, for they had cousins in Dol Amroth, but he seemed to have conveniently forgotten about them. To add to it, Queen Arwen also seemed to think she'd be the ideal companion for Éowyn, during the days that preceded the wedding, and the Queen had arranged for them to occupy living quarters next to each other.

Lothíriel could hardly refuse to help Faramir, and it was completely out of question for her to disappoint Queen Arwen, whom she admired greatly, thus she was to be Éowyn's right hand, for a time. Truth be told, she had nothing against the Rohirrim princess, but, even if she had had nine whole months to think about it, she knew not how she could convince her she was worthy of her brother. Lothíriel had already apologized profusely, and when she had been in Rohan, she had been as discreet and as disciplined as possible, yet none of it had impressed Éomer's sister. And there were no reason for Lothíriel to believe that Éowyn's opinion of her had inexplicably change over the course of the year.

Suspense did not last, since Lothíriel met with Éowyn barely a few hours after she had left Éomer, for a small luncheon they ate in the princess' chambers, and it was clear that their respective kinsmen hoped food would help with their reconciliation. While the delicacies they were served were indeed very good, they ate in silence – Lothíriel was tired, for reasons she wished not to disclose, and Éowyn had caught a glimpse of Éomer sneaking back in his rooms in the morning.

It was only when their plates were empty that Éowyn spoke, staring straight at Lothíriel.

"Lothíriel, may I ask, what are your intentions with my brother? I believed that after you brutally insulted him, he would have been over this little… penchant he had for you. However, it seems you have managed to bewitch him yet again during your time in Rohan and your long separation has not discouraged him."

Lothíriel had expected some resentment from Éowyn's part and she had been prepared to deal with it, yet this scorn took her aback.

"How poor then is your opinion of your brother, for you cannot trust his judgement," she retorted sourly.

Éowyn was not impressed and she ignored Lothíriel's words. "I should say, the insult itself was nothing, yet it is the general condescendence you have displayed towards my people that has me worried… So, do tell me, what are your intentions with Éomer?"

"What should I tell you? Should I say I plan to abduct him and hold him prisoner in Dol Amroth for the rest of his life?"

In that instant, part of her thought it did not matter much if Éowyn liked her or not, for they would not be living under the same roof – not even the same area –, but she reasoned herself. Éowyn was Éomer's only family, she was his precious little sister, and for the sake of this bond, Lothíriel had vowed to try winning over Faramir's future wife. Yet, for the moment, she deemed there was no need for her to insist and try to befriend Éowyn – if they were to keep arguing, it would not end well. Thus, she had gotten up and she was heading towards the door when she heard Éowyn muttered:

In that instant, part of her thought it did not matter much if Éowyn liked her or not, for they would not be living under the same roof – not even the same area –, but she reasoned herself. Éowyn was Éomer's only family, she was his precious little sister, and for the sake of this bond, Lothíriel had vowed to try winning over Faramir's future wife. Yet, for the moment, she deemed there was no need for her to insist and try to befriend Éowyn – if they were to keep arguing, it would not end well. Thus, she had gotten up and she was heading towards the door when she heard Éowyn muttered:

"I fear you will make him miserable."

Freezing mid-motion, Lothíriel felt some of her anger leave her. She could understand Éowyn was worried about her brother, just like he might be about hers, and so she turned around, gazing at her. She was so beautiful with her long golden hair, so delicate and yet so mighty too, just like her brother, it seemed.

"I love him, I dearly love him… And I would sooner have him wed another than be miserable by my side," Lothíriel said with all the confidence she could muster.

She and Éowyn's eyes met as they assessed each other silently.

"You are very pretty... And your beauty is not usual. It is the beauty of those who came from Westernesse and there is something else, something I cannot quite pinpoint," Éowyn said, slowly. "The moment I saw you in the Houses of Healing, I knew Éomer would fall for you."

Lothíriel's cheeks were flushed from utter embarrassment, and so much warmth irradiating from her face that Éowyn surely could sense it, even if she stood a few feet apart from her. "Ah, but beauty..." She cleared her throat rather loudly, struggling for words. "Beauty is only beauty…"

Éowyn stared at her, impassive – she must have been thinking Lothíriel was a dimwit. "Indeed, beauty is but a façade," she said, her expression softening. "And I have long thought that was all you were, a beautiful façade."

"And I did nothing to prove you otherwise, did I?" Lothíriel sighed.

After all, her interactions with Éomer's sister had been limited and not once had she really shined.

The ghost of a smile passed on Éowyn's lips. "Nothing I could see with my own eyes. However, I do trust my brother's judgement, as well as Faramir's. And would it not be highly improbable that these two happen to be wrong about you? Thus, loath as I am to admit it, I might have judged you too harshly."

"I am not without flaws," Lothíriel said, folding her arms, "but I… I am sincere, I love your brother."

This time, a real smile spread on Éowyn's face. "If we are to become sisters, Lothíriel, I suppose we should get to know each other."

"Of course, what should…?"

"Would you stay here with me, this afternoon? It shall not be the most thrilling hours of your life, for there are a few details regarding the wedding that have to be settled, but it would please me if you kept me company."

The request was kindly worded and Lothíriel, having heard Ioreth and her cousin's endless rant on jonquils and lilac, could only imagine that 'settling a few details' would take several hours – and Éowyn did not strike her as someone who relished this kind of work. And, indeed, it was a tedious task to go through all the wedding's preparations, especially since everyone involved in the organization could not quite agree on what had been done. They all expected Éowyn to settle their disputes, yet she bore these petty details no great interest and thus most of her decisions were based on nothing more than her will to end this as quickly as possible. And even then, it was only well into the evening that everything was done, at last.

"I see you too are not so fond of these endless debates about flowers and ribbons," said Éowyn, when the last lady-in-waiting of Queen Arwen had left the chambers. "I had hoped these matters would have had been dealt with already."

"It seems some of these ladies could have argued about bouquets for days," Lothíriel said, feeling as tired as if she had spent the day riding in the countryside. "I presume it is their own way of rejoicing at the prospect of a second wedding taking place in the citadel over the year. After all, the last decades have been quite gloomy here."

"Since your aunt…?"

"Yes, since my aunt passed away," Lothíriel replied, and then she explained, "It was well before my birth, but my father always told us she had never gotten used to the sight of Mordor and that, however she loved her husband and her sons, she yearned for the sea."

Éowyn meditated on these words – she had heard of Finduilas, but Faramir had been quite laconic about her.

"We, ladies, are required to leave everything behind us for the sake of marriage… Should someone have told me, merely two years ago, that I would be wedded to a Gondorian prince, I would have laughed certainly – or scream in horror. Yet Ithilien is not so far from Rohan and Faramir… Faramir is a far better man than I could have hoped for," said Éowyn and she added, "The road is long between Edoras and Dol Amroth, weeks and weeks of travel, I am told."

"It'd be much quicker, could we cross the mountains," said Lothíriel, pensively.

"It would, indeed…"

And Éowyn took a good look at the Gondorian girl. She would not tell her immediately, but she now had the conviction Lothíriel was not a bad person, nor that she was particularly conceited – well, just a little. The idea that the daughter of Prince Imrahil could become Queen of Rohan was still strange, yet Éowyn would never again called her unworthy of her brother, for the love she bore him was genuine. Had she been merely infatuated with his looks or his crown, she would have surely not spent this awfully long afternoon with Éowyn, facing dozens of ladies who seemed to think the fate of Gondor was somehow dependant on the choice of food that would be served at her wedding – she'd have fled in the middle of their awkward luncheon.

Also, she had learned they had at least one thing in common: both found organizing weddings to be a very boring task. And so, to recover from this terrible ordeal, Éowyn declared they needed a copious dinner and, this time, they talked as much as they ate (their healthy appetite was another thing they had in common!).

* * *

The wedding was a joyous feast, during with the ties between the kingdoms of Rohan and Gondor seemed stronger than ever. For once, Lothíriel danced a lot and with many different partners, although she always ended up with Éomer. She had a wonderful time, more even than at King Aragorn and Queen Arwen's wedding, even though there were no Elves nor Hobbits attending the celebration. She found that, a year later, she missed the latter much more than the former and she was glad to learn that King Aragorn had plans to revive the northern kingdom of the Dúnedain and to restore Annúminas, for she missed the friendship of Merry, and also of Pippin. But, during the wedding, she was not allowed to dwell on these thoughts very long. She was too glad for Éomer's presence – it was another sleepless night.

The day after, she met with Éomer, by the young White Tree that had bloomed again, for the second year in a row. There were no reasons for the two of them to hide, although in public they did no more than walking arm in arm, and thus they strolled slowly around the Citadel, already thinking about what would come next.

"Won't you go back to Edoras soon?" Lothíriel asked. "I presume the King of Rohan cannot tarry too long in Minas Tirith…"

"I cannot tarry long indeed, yet I can spare a few days, for I am not expected to abandon my sister so quickly and…" Éomer said. "And your father has most graciously invited me to visit Dol Amroth."

Lothíriel turned to him swiftly and she asked, hopeful: "Then you shall… you shall stay with us awhile?"

He smiled at her fondly, stroking her cheek. "For a short while only, I'm afraid, but it is a highly pleasant prospect nonetheless."

"Oh, it will be lovely!" she exclaimed. "You never saw the sea, did you? It is such a marvelous sight, and the sceneries in Belfalas are so different from what there is here or in Rohan, I am certain you will enjoy it greatly!"

"I do not doubt I will."

And he dared put a light kiss on her brow.

* * *

 **Part 3 – The Sea**

In Dol Amroth, Éomer was more than a guest, he was treated as a family member. Prince Imrahil treated him like one of his sons, although he was careful not to appear patronizing with the King of Rohan, and he had assigned him very fine chambers whose windows looked down at the sea. As for Elphir, Erchirion and Amrothos, they each had their own idea of what an enjoyable stay in Dol Amroth should encompass. Therefore, Éomer was tossed around, fishing with one in the morning, enjoying a refined luncheon with another at midday and discussing history with the last two during the evening, while some renowned harpist entertained them.

Thus, it was with the four men of her own family that Lothíriel had to compete to spend time with Éomer and while she was a bit exasperated at first, she thought it was very heartwarming as well – and she thought Éowyn would have been highly amused by the situation. Fortunately, as days passed, her father and her brothers did their best to rein their enthusiasm, allowing Lothíriel and Éomer to have their first stroll on the beach just by themselves.

The sight of the sea filled Éomer with wonder. He had heard of it, in lays and songs, yet never could he have imagined its immensity and its perpetual agitation – and to think that the men of Westernesse had dwelled on an island, somewhere in this body of water! He loved it, and he understood why Prince Imrahil had insisted he'd come visit Dol Amroth before heading back to Rohan. This land was so different from what he knew, its history was so rich, and its people so remarkable, it seemed he had traveled to another world.

"I was afraid my brothers would not let us have a single moment together," Lothíriel said.

"Their friendship is precious to me, yet I came here for you."

She laughed. "I shall tell them this then, for it appears they have forgotten I am the main attraction in Dol Amroth."

One thing had lead to another and Lothíriel had somehow convinced him to sit down in a lavender field, nearby the beach, and to let her braid his hair. She had insisted he had the softest hair she had ever touched, a compliment that surprised Éomer as much as it pleased him, and now that her nimble fingers were playing with his curls, he found himself closing his eyes and savouring the moment. He was no more a King and Rohan and Gondor had become very abstract notions, for he was just a young man in the company of a charming maiden and it seemed it was all that mattered.

"Shall I put some flowers in these fine braids of yours?" Lothíriel whispered in his ear, chuckling softly.

Had he been a cat, Éomer would have purred loudly in that instant – and what an incongruous thought that was! And how he relished this warm tingling sensation that ran through his skin whenever she touched him!

"A few daisies would perhaps suit me," he replied, stretching his legs lazily.

"Would not lilies be more kingly?" she suggested.

"Perhaps…" he muttered, distractedly.

Far from being preoccupied by flowers, his mind strayed elsewhere. They were so well together, so comfortable with each other, that he had become convinced that was how things were supposed to be, _always_. It was obvious to him, it had been for a while now, yet he knew not if Lothíriel had drawn the same conclusions that he had. In Minas Tirith, it had seemed so, but since they were in Dol Amroth, Éomer had begun to doubt, for he wondered if she would be ready to leave her home to stay with him in Edoras. She had genuinely enjoyed her stay in Rohan, during the previous summer, but her father and her brothers had been with her and it had lasted only a few weeks – a lifetime away from Dol Amroth could hardly compare to that.

That was what he was pondering over, as Lothíriel was busy entwining flowers in his hair (she had chosen forget-me-nots, whose bright blue color was an exact match to Éomer's eyes). After she had proudly admired the results of her efforts, she sat beside him, passing her arms around him and leaning her head against his arm. For a few peaceful moments, they both gazed at the sea, till Éomer broke the silence:

"Now that I behold the Ocean and its immensity, that I hear the roaring of the waves and the cries of the seagulls… How foolish it seems that I could pretend our green meadows are a like sea, for they pale in comparison to this."

"It is enthralling and never does one tire of this view," said Lothíriel. "Whenever I have been staying away from here, oft have I dreamed I was walking on this very beach, the water tickling my feet…"

He grabbed one of her hands and put a kiss on it.

"I could never ask you to leave this for me," he said, a sad smile on his face.

"And I shan't ask a King to trade his crown for the seaside and a few seagulls."

Éomer stared her, as her face was still turn to the sea. She belonged to these shores as much as he belonged to the meadows of Rohan, he thought, his heart heavy.

Yet Lothíriel had already made her choice, well before they had arrived in Dol Amroth.

"Will you let me visit them from time to time?" she asked softly.

He straightened, stunned, and he watched Lothíriel, closely. Her cheeks had reddened, and for once it was not from embarrassment, and resolve shone in her grey gaze, that had shifted from the waves to Éomer.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, his voice hoarse from emotion. "Of course! I would never stop you, I… I hope you will allow me to come with you, from time to time."

"I believe my father and my brothers will want to see you," Lothíriel said as she buried herself in his arms. "They'll want to thank you for getting them rid of me."

"Or they shall hate me for depriving them from your exquisite person," Éomer told her, showering her with little kisses. "Thus, will you become my wife, Lothíriel? Will you marry me?"

"Yes, a thousand times yes," she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting her mouth on his.

They kissed a lot, they laughed and a few tears were shed as well. They'd long remember this afternoon. They would spend their lives in Edoras, among horses and prairies, yet the sun, the sea and the lavender of Dol Amroth would ever remain associated to this one blissful moment when they pledged their love to one another.

And in the evening, Éomer went to see Prince Imrahil to ask formally for his daughter's hand. He did not fear the Prince of Belfalas would rebuke him, however he knew he would deprive a father from his youngest child and only daughter.

"I should admit that until last year, I did believe she would never wish to marry and thus remain by my side, in Dol Amroth," said the Prince, in a very serious tone. "Would it not have been pleasant to have my daughter with me, in my older days? Ah, but when I see the two of you together, I can only rejoice…"

"I promised her she would be free to come back here whenever she would like to do so," Éomer felt compelled to say – it was only then that he remembered Faramir had told him something similar, the day he had asked for his sister's hand.

"And I shall travel to Rohan," retorted Prince Imrahil, smiling. "I would not have my grandchildren be deprived from their grandfather too much."

"You and your sons will always be welcomed in Meduseld," added Éomer, bowing his head.

* * *

That night, no grand feast was thrown. Instead, they gathered for a family dinner during which the betrothal was formalized, although it was celebrated in a very informal way. For the most part, Lothíriel's brothers shared with Éomer every embarrassing story there was to be told about her, despite her vehement protests. On a more serious note, it was also decided the wedding would be held in the coming Spring, in Edoras, and that Erchirion would go live in Edoras, long enough for Lothíriel to settle in her new home – and perhaps for him to find himself a golden-haired wife.

Thus, all was settled and Lothíriel would become Queen of Rohan.


End file.
